


The Traveler

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Original Work
Genre: A legacy, Blood and Violence, Cults, Cyrileonia, Drugs, Dryads - Freeform, Dwarves, Elven Gods, Elves, Emperors, F/M, Fantasy, Finish what we started, Healers, Kingdoms, M/M, Necromancers, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Slavery, Spirits, Swords & Sorcery, The Great War, The Traveler - Freeform, Undead, Undead Rising, Vampires, arda, enslavement, sorcerors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: In the country of Arda on the Cyrileonia continent, mankind is at war with forces far beyond their reaches. They've enslaved and oppressed all non-humans, declaring wars against the Elves and forcing the Dwarves to build their kingdoms and mine for them.  But when the undead begin to rise, mankind is forced to swallow it's pride and become unlikely allies in order to face the country's biggest battle yet. Between the worlds of the living and that of the dead.





	1. Introduction To Arda (Optional Read)

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is just a quick history so names and such make sense. Gives you an overview of the terrain and the land as well as it's history. It's just a quick summary. you can skip it if you like and get right straight to the story.

A Brief History of Arda:

Arda is a place that hails on the fringes of Cyrileonia. Cyrileonia is made up of four countries. Brehemen in the south, cold and unforgiving whose people are as tough as they come. It is made home mostly by barbarians, feral tribes and dwarves. Brehemen's coasts are hemmed by steep cliffs that drop off into the Saphirian Sea. Her borders made of frozen mountain ranges and snow filled valleys.

West of Brehemen is Gyra, a harsh desert land with white dunes and vicious sand storms. Her people are sly and easily make the sandy terrain their home but are highly territorial. Few welcome outsiders and merchants rarely travel there except to rest at her only port before taking to the sea. In the east is Dochduane, a land inhabited by giants and a variety of other fearsome creatures. It is wild and untamed, few venture there and little more is known about it. On its eastern most coast is where the cold waters of the Saphirian Sea meet the warm waves of the Tyrial Sea. Strong coastal undercurrents and whirlpools make docking here impossible. Many unfortunate vessels have been lost to her tides. Inland she is hot and humid, covered in dense jungles with deep rivers.

In the north is Arda. She is host to many who populate her forests, valleys and mountain ranges. Surrounded by the warm bountiful waters of the Tyrial Sea. She is a hub for trade with three iconic ports, one of which being the Imperial City, home to the Emperor and the heart of the country's trade.

The elves, dryads and druids were the first to call Arda home. Then the dwarves came from Brehemen finding her mountains were rich in materials and resources. After that, men arrived on ships from the southwest finding her sea's easily accessible and her lands fertile unlike her sister lands of Brehemen and Gyra and her wilds easily tamed unlike Dochduane. Mankind settled, content to make her their new home. They created an empire to protect them from the elves who saw early on the dangers of their greedy natures and the dwarves whose mines were more prosperous than their own. Battles were waged between races until the men allied with the dwarves. Together they built the Imperial City, a massive fortress like no other. Made specifically to keep nonhuman's out and thus became the lifeblood of Arda's economy.

Emperor Gerard Vallus was appointed the first emperor of Arda. He oversaw the banishment and battles against the nonhuman's. Successfully wiping out the Druids and forced work of the dwarves, making them mine for the Imperials. He was succeeded by his oldest son Kyrix Vallus. Kyrix drove the last of the elves into hiding. They built their own strongholds in the land's forests. Kyrix had a special fascination with Dryads and had hunting parties capture them in order to be exhibited in his own personal zoo. This nearly wiped out the already rare species.

When Kyrix's only son Castar Vallus took the throne, he was appalled by the mistreatment the non humans were subjected to. He called for unity among the races and sought to abolish the hatred his father and grandfather had nurtured against them. Castar sought peace but found it was too late. Many of the dwarves of Arda fled back to Brehemen to escape enslavement and persecution. The elves isolated themselves from the wrath of man and hid within the forests with the last remaining Dryads.

The druids had long since died out and their temples fell into ruin, leaving little evidence behind of their mysterious mystic people. Mankind no longer had the luxury to blame non humans for their misfortunes and soon turned on one another. Arda was entangled in a war once more, the greatest war she has ever bared witness to. A war that transcends realms. One between the land of the living and that of the dead.


	2. The Great War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great War is where everything started. It seems like the end but it's only the beginning.

The History Of Arda: The Great War

 

25 years ago.........

 

Under the fleeting stars of the night sky, where storm clouds shrouded the only light giving way to the rocky path through the mountain pass. Two hundred men marched, clad in armor, marked by the imperial seal of a Raven clutching a single gladiolus flower in it's talons. Leading them through the treacherous landscape was five figures on horseback. A she-elf with long auburn hair, tied into a ponytail and trailing down her back. Silver mithril armor wrapped her tall slender form. On her back was a shortbow made from the finest brethil wood. The polished silver wood caught the shreds of moonlight, sneaking through the cloud coverage giving the weapon an enchanted glow. Her green eyes searching the dark terrain before her as the white mare carried her along the path, following the brown stallion in front. Her hands gripped the reins, her arms wrapped around the young dwarf sitting in front of her. His long black hair tied back as well draping down his back. His beard braided neatly. Dark brown eyes staring forward as he gripped his battle axe tighter, knuckles turning white. "Be still Aethrin." The she-elf whispered reassuringly.

Beside the she-elf and Aethrin was a sorcerer in an earthen cloak on a black steed. He looked less like a warrior and more like a scholar but the she-elf knew better. He was powerful in his own right with no need for armors, though a ceremonial dagger rested in a sheath on his belt, the silver tip of the handle peeking out from his cloak, catching the shreds of moonlight. He had platinum hair tied back in a hasty ponytail and soft observant hazel eyes. He held the reins of his horse lazily, his posture calm and carefree. In front of him sat a dwarf, sharing the same black mane of hair as Aethrin only his remained freely flowing over his shoulders. His beard was significantly shorter than the others though he was older than Aethrin and made sure to remind him often. They shared the same brown eyes though his were softer and were fixed upon Aethrin. This dwarf carried a steel sword instead of a bulky axe or cumbersome hammer. His voice, though low and gravely, came as a soft whisper between the two riders. "Aethrin."

Aethrin turned his gaze to look at the other dwarf, his expression confused. "Aethald?" He questioned as if he thought he had imagined the voice. Aethrin's voice was deeper and held less grace than his brother's.

The two dwarven brothers locked eyes momentarily then Aethrin nodded as if in understanding of an unspoken conversation. The dwarf's tense body relaxed against the she-elf, the gesture from Aethald appearing to have calmed the younger dwarf. Leading the two horses on a brown stallion was an adanedhel shrouded in an olive green cloak. He wore mithril chainmail and carried Thalion, the blade of his father. He sat alert upon his horse and pushed on deeper into the pass without hesitation. His blue-grey gaze piercing the night as the cloud coverage grew heavier until all the light from the heavens was consumed in darkness.

The soldiers marching onward slowed their pace as they picked their way through the jagged rock and jutting mountain side. The horses shifted as well, becoming more worried and reluctant towards continuing further. "Argas?" The she-elf questioned as she tried to regain control of her horse as it backed up nervously, neighing it's disapproval.

"We're almost there." Argas informed as he dismounted from his horse who was spooked as well and held the reins to calm it, speaking softly, placing a gentle hand upon its muzzle. The horse neighed and tugged a moment more before stepping forward and pressing its muzzle against his hand trustingly. Once the other two horses were calmed and the soldiers had stopped to rest, Argas spoke to the she-elf and the sorceror. "The mouth of the pass is just up ahead. We must stay vigilant for it leaves us open for ambush." He explained. "Valadheil, I want you and your archers to go up the slopes and take position at the opening." Argas looked to the she-elf who nodded her understanding. He then looked to the sorceror beside him. "Isaac," The sorcerer fixed his gaze upon the hunter. "If there are too many foes, I need you to divide them up. Can you do that?" Isaac nodded. "Good." He clasped a hand on Isaac's shoulder and squeezed. "Take Aethrin and Aethald with you. They will cover you." Isaac nodded once again and returned the gesture with a pat on Argas' shoulder before turning towards the dwarves who sat side by side on a large boulder, doing a last inspection of their weapons. "Isaac." Argas' voice drifted through the cool evening air. Isaac looked over his shoulder at the hunter questioningly. "Thank you." Argas spoke, searching the eyes of the sorcerer. The sorcerer merely gave him a small smile and a curt nod before turning back towards the dwarves.

Argas gave a worried sigh as he took a seat on a boulder near the horses, his hands folded and his head bowed, pressing against his knuckles. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be enveloped by the silence of the evening. The distant sounds of the soldiers shifting in their armor, a few whispering to one another but most everyone remained quiet. All clamoring for the battle to come. Many will not live to see the dawn and each knew this when they donned their armor and pledged their swords, answering the call of their land. They ranged from elder men who have been forged in many battles to those of youth who have yet to feel the kiss of their first loves. Here, now when battle was a breath away, he found himself unusually calm. Unlike the embrace of the hunt that fills him with boundless energy and unbridled excitement, the reality of the outcome already filled his heart until painfully heavy. The burden of his task at hand settled within him. He was to lead these men against an unrivaled army not of this world. He wasn't leading them to glory or honor but to their deaths. It was an ill feeling that sickened him.

In his silent moments a warm gentle hand fell upon his shoulder, the darkness of his thoughts melted away under silver moonlight. He opened his eyes to look upon the fair beauty of the elven warrior standing before him. Her soft emerald eyes meeting his livid gaze with a reassuring smile. Her hand lifted from his shoulder and was joined by the other to cup his face as she bent down slowly and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Seere melamin." (Peace my love.) She whispered into his forehead. "Uma il- dela ikotane." (Do not worry so.)

His blue-grey eyes locked with her shimmering emerald gaze. Her eyes filled with peaceful confidence. He was conflicted. How could somebody have so much trust in him to see them to glory when he himself was so uncertain. "How can you be so at peace when our destiny is shrouded with doubt?"

Valadhiel gave her most genuine smile and spoke as if her words were common knowledge and truth at it's truest. "I am at peace because you are leading us. You will be the light in this darkness. The beacon that will guide us to victory."

He tore his eyes away and looked down at his hands. "They will die."

"We all die when time see's fit. It is only natural." She explained. "Death is part of war but without this war, more death will follow." She rested her hands on his shoulders and dipped her head to rest it against his. "You must choose the lesser evil Argas."

He released a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding before wrapping his arms around Valadheil, pulling her into his lap. "Make me a promise." Her voice a whisper between them. "That you will survive this, no matter what happens out there."

"I promise." He began, "As long as you promise to be with me when this is all over. To be mine and I yours."

Valadhiel wrapped her arms around Argas' neck and pressed their lips together, whispering her words into him. "I promise."

Argas felt the heavy weight of his burden lift a little as her words graced his ears. Before when his destiny seemed so shadowed, he now had a light at the end of the path he had been stumbling along for so long.

"Eh hem." A gravely voice came, breaking the silence. Both Valadheil and Argas looked up to see Aethrin and Aethald standing in front of them. "Are we interrupting something?" Aethrin asked, his eyes fixed upon the two.

"Not at all." Argas said sarcastically as Valadheil got up from his lap and gave a curt nod to the dwarves, quietly excusing herself. Argas watched as Valadhiel made her way through the mass of soldiers that rested in odd places throughout the pass until she found her way to her archers.

"The men are ready." Aethald informed.

Argas shifted his gaze from Valadheil to Aethald. "We move out in five." Argas explained. Aethald nodded before they turned to inform the soldiers.

Valadhiel's forces took little time to scale the steep rocky slopes of the pass and were soon in position at the opening. They took out four Guina Scouts that guarded the mouth and kept vigilant watch for more. Beyond the pass was a large expanse of rocky terrain that was spotted with boulders and dead trees. Once past the open expanse of space there was the ruins of a shrine built into the mountain side. At the top of the shrine were two massive stone figures of men wearing skull masks, dressed in ancient flowing robes. Their bodies arched forward and their arms joined to form a large circle. Within the circle was a fiery portal. A black smoke emanating from it, reeking of sulfur and washing over the open space as a pungent fog. Near the portal were three figures standing guard. One was an archer with a longbow on his back and a hood concealing his face. The second was larger in build wielding a large battle axe and the third was taller with broader shoulders carrying two swords. Their eyes scanning the open rocky terrain.

Moment's after the archers were in place, Argas led the soldiers on foot to the mouth of the pass and spread out along the rock walls. The black fog rolled across the lands towards the men as if a force of wind was giving it speed as it rushed over them. The men's disgust was vocalized in grunts and hushed curses throughout the ranks. The foul smell burned the nostrils and gagged all who inhaled it's rotting fumes. Argas pulled up the face mask which was situated beneath his cloak around his neck to keep most of the putrid stench away if only to aid in removing any possible distraction.

The guard with the longbow withdrew a black horn that hung on his hip and raised it, arching back as he blew it. The shrill sound that came from it echoed off the rock walls and sent a shiver running down Argas' spine. His ill feeling returning. As the horn's announcement faded, the earth began to shake and the fog over the land thickened into a black shade. There was a crack as loud as thunder and the portal glowed and spewed fire and smoke. The dark cloud above broke open into a downpour of large black droplets. Isaac stepped forward from the line of men and held his hand out as the rain came and he ground the black residue between his fingers. He inspected it further then looked to Argas. "Ash." He informed the hunter.

Argas opened his mouth to speak but his words died on his lips before reaching the air when hundreds of figures rose from the fog, pale of skin and adorned in the armor of many lands. Their bodies were distorted and broken in appearance. Boney limbs grasping swords and axes. "This world now belongs to the dead!" A sharp voice called from the shrine. Argas and Isaac looked up to see a man in white armor that resembled sun bleached bones from that of a great beast. Around his neck was the Guina Amulet. It's crimson center glowing in the fiery light of the portal. Another cloud of pungent fog swept across the land as the portal buzzed and rumbled until half a dozen large pale humanoid beasts with black horned armor stepped through. With claws for hands and rows of pointed teeth gnashing and heads whipping back and forth in search of prey. These beasts were known as Ogres. Creatures said to have long died out in Arda.

The Necromancer gave a hiss as he spoke. "And you will join them." On the Necromancer's words the army of undead rushed at Argas and his men. Argas raised Thalion, signalling to Valadheil who ordered her archers to fire. A volley of arrows flew through the air , piercing the bodies of the enemy, as each one fell, two more would take it's place. An endless stream of corpses rising from the earth. The beasts that came from the portal joined in the fight at the command of the guards.

Argas' eyes were fixed upon the pale beasts as their lumbering forms stomped through the waves of undead soldiers. Argas waited as Valadheil's archers shot another volley before he lowered Thalion, pointing it towards the oncoming army. "To victory!" Argas yelled to his men who responded with their own battle cry as they charged towards the enemy with swords drawn. The two armies met in a clash of steel. The battleforged cries of the soldiers against the growls and groans of the undead. Bone and steel and blood and ashen rain filled the night. Valadhiel's archer's covered the men with their arrows at will. The she-elf joining in and protecting Argas as he cut his way across the battlefield. Aethrin and Aethald protected Isaac as he used his magic, chanting spells in ancient tongues to create blue fiery walls that split the undead army into many sections so the imperials would not be easily overwhelmed. Isaac raised his hands palms up before him, controlling the flames. They would rise like a great tide and wash over the undead that continued to flood the land. His flames would encircle large groups in a ball of blue, capturing the enemy and incinerating them until nothing was left but charred bone and distorted steel.

The sorcerer and the hunter made their way towards the shrine, cutting their way through the dead that guarded the steps while Valadheil and her archers descended the slopes and entered the battle, taking on the Ogres that were quickly dispatching the men with large sweeping attacks with their claws. With swift movement and inhuman speed, she would scale the beasts and slash at the weak points in their armor. Stabbing at their necks and cutting their ankles and the backs of their legs until the beasts were brought to knee allowing for the archer's to finish them mercilessly with their swords, driving them deep into the beast's flesh. As the creatures died, their bodies turned to ash adding to the slurry of blood, rain, and mud that made the terrain slick.

Aethrin and Aethald held back the undead that chased after the four men as they ascended the steps to the top of the shrine. Isaac's hands glowed with blue light as he fought one foe after another, dagger in hand cutting and burning each that stood in his path. Argas wielded Thalion with skill as he swiftly struck down one undead soldier after another. With well timed swings and thrusts while stepping through the ashes of the fallen dead, he made it to the peak of the shrine where the three guards waited to greet them with weapons drawn. Just past the three, Argas spied a circle etched in the stone at the mouth of the portal. The deep lines in the stone flowed with the blood of five Guina Soldiers that the Necromancer had sacrificed. Their throats slit to near decapitation by the long slim silver blade the Necromancer held in his grasp still stained with their blood.

"Cease this madness Dregos!" Isaac spoke from beside Argas.

The Necromancer, Dregos, laughed in response. "There is nothing more maddening than men, nephew. " Dregos hissed the word 'men' like the mere formation of it's sounds burnt his tongue.

Isaac shook his head slowly. "Then you shall join your dead, Uncle." Isaac spoke sharply.

"I already have." Dregos raised his head returning a sharp glare toward Isaac, a look of amusement flashed across his features as Argas and Isaac took in the sight. Dregos had indeed joined the dead as evidence of a large scar crossed his neck, the wound was an angry red compared to the stark white contrast of his lifeless skin.

"Kill them." Dregos commanded to the guards. The guards wasted no time descending upon the four. The axeman swung on Argas, only to be deflected by Thalion. The archer shot at Aethrin but Isaac had cast a ward spell making his arrows useless against him then shot out a ball of blue flames in return. The archer dove to the side, dodging the flames as he shot another arrow at Isaac. Isaac switched spells, casting his ward once more. Aethrin struck out at the swordsman while Aethald backed him up. Both dwarves swung their weapons, attacking the swordsman from both sides but the swordsman parried the blows with his blades, pushing the dwarves back but the Galrin brothers were a stubborn breed and only attacked with more ferocity.

Argas dodged and parried the axeman's attacks as he studied his weaknesses and his movements, easily reading the enemy's intentions before they become actions. With a straight thrust, his blade caught the axeman across the chest but he moved fast for his size and twisted his torso just enough so Thalion had only a taste of the axeman's blood with merely a skin deep wound as evidence. The axeman swung his weapon mid twist and was thrown off balance just enough to give Argas an opening. As the axe came for him in a large sweeping motion, Argas ducked quickly then sprung back up holding Thalion tightly as he slashed upwards catching the axeman's dominant arm, cutting through flesh and tendon. He felt Thalion greet the axeman's bone before withdrawing his weapon. The screams of the axeman blotted out the sounds of battle behind them. The axeman dropped his weapon at his feet and gripped his arm. Argas wasted no time as he seized upon the chance to end it. He swung Thalion once more slicing through the flesh of the axeman's neck until his head dangled from his spine and blood bathed his torso. His body went limp and dropped to his knees before crumbling into ash that was quickly washed from the white stones of the shrine by the rain.

The archer glanced away from Isaac to see his comrade fall before Argas. His knocked arrow was released and sunk into Argas' shoulder. A groan of surprise came from Argas as Isaac cast another flame spell and entrapped the archer in a ball of blue fire that consumed his entire body. A moment later Aethrin and Aethald had the swordsman down to one sword with a single well aim swing of Aethrin's axe and Aethald ended it by piercing the swordsman's heart.

Argas reached up and pulled the arrow from his shoulder with his free hand and tossed it on the ground as he stepped forward, the arrow crunching beneath his feet. "Enough games Dregos!" Argas growled as the four men stepped up to face the Necromancer.

Dregos sneered at the sight of the ash residue left behind by his guards as he stepped forward, silver sword in hand. "I will end you myself." He spoke, eyes locked on Argas.

"Not if we have anything to say about it." Aethrin spoke up, axe at the ready beside Aethald.

Dregos narrowed his eyes at the two dwarves as the Guina Amulet glowed. Seconds later the dead bodies around the circle began to move, getting up on their feet. The soldier's moaned and growled as they drew their weapons and descended upon the three. Argas cursed under his breath as his three companions struggled to take on the five undead foes. "Don't worry. They'll be dead soon. And you'll join them." Dregos' voice filled Argas' ears. Argas returned his attention to Dregos just as his blade was thrust forward. Argas had just enough time to sidestep, the silver blade catching his armor as it passed. Argas raised Thalion to meet Dregos' weapon pushing him back. Dregos stepped back before lunging forward once more but this time Argas was prepared and parried the blade downward before swinging it back up. Thalion kissed Dregos' cheek, leaving a line of blood in it's wake. Dregos' hissed and thrust upward with his blade, the silver tip meeting Argas' ribcage but failed to puncture it. Argas' grunted more at the force of the blow as he stepped back, holding Thalion in a defensive stance. Dregos growled his discontent.

Dregos lunged for Argas who met his blade with a clash of steel and silver. Their blades swinging through the air only to be parried by the other. Argas stepped back, catching the back of his boot on the dip of the stones and fell back with a grunt of surprise. He looked up to see Dregos looming over him with blade swinging down upon him. Argas raised Thalion and met his blade then kicked Dregos' leg out from under him. When the Necromancer dropped to his knee, Thalion rushed up to meet him. Argas drove his father's blade through Dregos' neck, severing it from his body before it crumpled beside Argas.

Argas was quick to his feet, removing the Guina Amulet from Dregos' corpse then turning to face his companions to find the soldiers had been dispatched. Aethrin, putting an end to the fifth with his axe. Isaac stepped forward to meet Argas who held the amulet out to him. "Let's end this." Argas said.

Isaac nodded, taking the amulet and standing before the portal. He raised it above him, chanting in ancient tongues as the amulet glowed an angry red. "I banish thee back to whence you came." There was a loud rumbling sound that led to a crack like thunder. Argas looked around, his eyes cast down to the battlefield where the hundreds of undead soldiers crumbled to ash. The ash piles evaporating into smoke which rose up into a serpent like cloud that rushed towards the portal, snaking it's way through the sky. The smoke funneled into the portal as it buzzed and roared, the red flames eating it up gluttonously. Argas watched as the last of the smoke disappeared, the weight in his chest quickly lifting as the realization came to him. "It's over." He breathed.

Looking over he spied Valadhiel's slender form bounding up the steps of the shrine to greet him with a relieved smile. He returned the smile, stepping towards her. He had barely moved an inch when he felt a force fill his chest. A scream came from Valadhiel's lips, her smile quickly ripped away in terror. A pale hand gripped Argas' shoulder tightly. He gasped to breathe as a suffocating pain came as if his heart were being crushed. He turned his head just enough to see Dregos' dead eyes locked on him. His voice was raspy as he spoke into Argas' ear. "I'm taking you with me." It came as a snarl of satisfaction as Argas' knees buckled and his vision darkened. His lungs burned for oxygen and the strength he had left was drained from him.

Dregos withdrew his hand from the body of the hunter. He admired the spell he had cast which allowed him to reach within his foes and strangle their hearts with his bare hands. Dregos watched in amusement as the hunter's form laid limp on the white stone. Valadhiel rushed at him with an elvish blade, sinking it deep into his chest. Dregos reached out and wrapped his fingers around her throat and began to squeeze. She choked as she withdrew her blade from his body and lashed out with it, severing his arm from his body, freeing her. Dregos growled angrily.

Isaac stepped forward, Guina amulet in hand. "I banish you into Morinuin." The amulet glowed fiercely as Dregos' body slowly disintegrated into ash which was then sucked into the portal and swallowed up. Isaac withdrew an amulet of his own from around his neck which had been tucked beneath his armor. It was a crystal of golden light that resembled the stars. The Karnil amulet. The only object with the power to close the portal of the dead. He chanted it's name and held it out before him as the portal caved in on itself and fizzled into a wisp of black smoke that was pulled into the amulet, blemishing it's beauty until it was a sick grey.

Valadheil dropped to her knees beside Argas' pulling his head into her lap and cradling him in her arms. Tears running down her face as she spoke in elvish. " Lle veste amin." (You promised me.) She cried. Aethrin and Aethald stood beside Argas, bowing their heads. Isaac joined them, his own head bowed in respect.

"Please do not go for I cannot follow." She murmured into his hair, kissing his forehead. "Don't leave me here alone. Please. Come back to me." She closed her eyes, her tears falling, leaving warm droplets on his cheeks.

"I always keep my promises." A soft voice came as a hand caressed her cheek, wiping her tears away with his thumb. "Nalla il- Melamin." (Cry not my love.)

Valadhiel opened her eyes to be greeted by Argas' soft blue-grey gaze. "Argas!" She rejoiced, wrapping her arms around him tighter.

He sat up, resting his hands over her arms and resting his head against hers. He looked to the two dwarves and the sorcerer who had joyous smiles on their faces. "It's over. You did it." Argas said softly, watching Isaac.

"No my friend, " Isaac returned with a comforting but weary smile. "we did it."

Argas nodded, squeezing Valadhiel's arms gently. She responded by releasing him from her grip. Slowly Argas rose to his feet and stepped towards the peak of the shrine, looking out below where his soldiers stood. He gripped Thalion tightly and raised it above his head and gave his loudest cry of victory. The soldiers that stood on the battlefield below returned with their own cries of celebration. When the voices settled. Argas spoke. "On this day, we shall not mourn the dead but celebrate the lives they have given. For if it were not for their sacrifices, we would not have achieved such victory." Argas gave a sideways glance to Isaac who had stepped to his side. Isaac gave a respectful nod which Argas returned with a soft smile before continuing. "This day shall be remembered in generations to come as the day Arda stood united against unimaginable evil and returned from the ashes of war victorious!" The soldiers roared in celebration, a new energy buzzing throughout the ranks. Argas lowered Thalion, returning the blade to its sheath as he released a relieved sigh. "For this day, great evil is no more."


	3. The Bastard Child

25 years later....

The cold icy winter air fills their lungs as they trekked across the countryside in search of work. The harsh bite of the wind stings their ashen skin. They had spent so much time in the elements that their skin had begun to resemble the snow itself. They had spent about an hour moving against the blizzard's winds, barely keeping track of the road, getting lost a time or two. Their eyes filled with disbelief upon the first sight of walls in the distance. A small stronghold, walls built so high to keep elves from clambering over the heavily guarded gates. Spiky barriers lined the base to keep trolls and rotting fiends at bay when night falls.

With heavy footfalls, they pulled on the reigns of their weary horses, trying to persuade them to go just a little further. The first sign of rest for days lies right before them. Safety, a chance at restocking their supplies, and a possibility for work was in their grasp. As they approached the gates, a guard called down to them "Halt! State your business."

One of their group, a man they've come to call "The Elder" answered the man's question. He told them they were travelers just passing through. The guards above watched them closely, as a small handful of their men opened the gates and walked out to investigate. They were dressed in leather armor with light blue accents. The symbol of a talon pressed in silver clasps marked them as the guards of Rival. It was a long time before they finally came to a decision. They allowed the group to pass through, leading them into the town, swords drawn as if to remind them that if any of the group caused trouble, it will mean their end.

They were so exhausted they barely made it to the inn. After purchasing a couple rooms for the night, they collapsed in the beds and surrendered to some very long overdue rest.

They awoke abruptly to the sound of heavy footsteps and a crash in the room next to them where three of their group had taken rest. There was shouting and arguing. The Elder's voice crept through the shouting and harsh tones. He tried to talk some sense into the intruders. Asking for some reason as to why they were being raided. His voice was cut off mid-sentence and a loud thump came as if a body had hit the floor. They heard shuffling and the sound of something heavy being dragged into the hallway.

They looked around the room quickly, dreading the intruders would come for them next. They found there was no other exit. Nowhere to hide. One of the three in their room, the youngest of them ran to the window, scrambling to open it. At first it was stuck then with some help from the older man in the group, they were successful. They looked around hoping they could sneak out onto the ledge of the roof and make a break for it but were faced with disappointment. There was no ledge and the roof was angled and icy from the rain and snow. To climb it would mean to fall the three floors down to the road. They couldn't chance it.

If they fell and broke something they'd be caught for sure. The risk wasn't worth it. They shut the window and turned to face the door. A chill ran through Randir and it wasn't from the crisp winter air that blew in from outside. The room next door had become deathly silent. An ill sign. The oldest one crept to the door with cat-like grace. His footsteps utterly silent. Listening carefully and holding their breath, they strained to hear any sign of life. After a moment or two, they released a sigh of relief. The eldest man stepping away from the door and turning towards the other two. His mouth formed an 'O' shape to speak when a blade appeared through his middle. He looked down at the bloody tip, that 'O' etched on his face like the words on a headstone.

The blade slid out of him with as much ease as it entered, disappearing behind the door through the slit in the wood. His body slumped to the ground and fell forward, the wooden floor soaking up the blood that oozed from the wound. The handle grunted and the cold hinges screamed against the motion. The youngest man stood frozen at Randir's side. His body trembling like a leaf in a storm. His hands slowly moving behind his back, his fingertips barely touching the hilt of his knife. They no sooner wrapped around it when one of the intruders threw a blade of his own, burying it deep in the young man's neck. His hand seized and relaxed as he dropped to his knees. The knife falling from the band around his waist where it had sat snug in place. It's shiny silver blade clattered to the floor. The noise strangely loud in the silence. Piercing the ears like the wails of the Weeping Lady. Blood trickled down his chest, soaking his clothes. His hand twitched as he struggled to reach for the blade as if all the energy had been sapped from him. His fingertips were a hair's length away when his arm sagged to his side and he fell forward, the weight of his body forcing the blade deeper into his neck until it had protruded from the other side. Red liquid coated the length of the blade, the drops trickling down like crimson tears.

Completely frozen with fear and unarmed Randir faced the intruders. It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts enough to realize they were soldiers. The Elite Guards for the town. They wore armor the color of blood, with black accents. Their faces masked in black like executioners. They were deadly and silent. They resemble that of the plague. Leaving nothing but death in their tracks. They stepped forward. There were four of them, all identical.

Without a single word spoken the first two approached with deadly precision. Randir had only enough time to stumble back before they had him in their grasp and pushed him into the floor. His face pressed hard against the creaking wood and pools of blood, already turning cold. His hands were bound by iron manacles and he was hauled to his feet. The two guards by the door watched him closely. He could see their eyes through the slits in their masks. They were cold and dark filled with disgust. Their glares cut through him like their blades did to his group. They dragged him out into the hallway, the tip of a blade pressed firmly against the arch of his back, puncturing his skin, persuading him forward and informing him that if he made any sudden moves, they'll certainly be his last. At first he was apprehensive, trying to fight back but the stinging pain of the knife at his back edged him on. He could feel a small line of blood making it's way down his back. As they escorted him out into the hallway, past the dead bodies of his group and out of the inn, the freezing wind chilled the blood, turning it into an icy finger, running down his spine. Leaving shivering waves in it's wake.

Randir tried his hand at pleading for his release. Begging for a reason as to why they killed his group and arrested him. But his distraught words fell upon deaf ears. He twisted around to look into the eyes of the one holding the blade at his back, and pleaded once more. Finding the guard's eyes were filled with indifference. It was clear he did not care. His response to Randir's incessant begging was to push the knife deeper into his back. A good portion of the blade had entered his skin. More blood dripped and chilled against his skin. His tunic pressed against it, spreading the blood across his back. The icy wind stung his eyes and bit at his skin. His bare feet grew numb as they trudged through the ankle deep snow moving along the empty streets.

The town was still dark, the early morning hours. Soon the sun would rise, breaking it's way through the clouds and giving what little warmth it could to this world of white. What few vendors there were had already made their way onto the streets, averting their eyes as the soldiers past. Quickly glancing up long enough to see Randir. When his eyes met theirs, they returned a look of cold hatred. Their sneering faces followed him. Burnt into his mind. The expression was shared as more townsfolk flooded the streets. The night sky faded from blues and blacks, into reds and oranges as the sun's first rays fell upon the rooftops, reflecting on the powdery white flakes.

The hustle and bustle of the morning market had already begun. The people lined the sides of the streets when they passed, fearing the soldiers. Looks of disdain greeted Randir as he was marched to the town's square. People had gathered to see the new captive, another subject to be made an example of. This was how order was kept. Public displays of justice. Or as the guards put it "Just another bit of entertainment." A man was already waiting for them. The commandant. He was a pudgy arrogant man. He looked down his nose at Randir when the soldiers pushed him forth. The one removed the knife from Randir's back then gripped his shoulder, squeezing tightly, forcing him down to a kneeling position. The snow soaked into his clothes, numbing his skin further.

The commandant held up a paper and looked it over before nodding to the soldiers. The one holding Randir stayed behind him, the other three took up post around the square. The commandant held up the paper and read it off. It stated that Randir was a criminal, arrested under the charges of trespassing and affiliation with the rebels. His sentence was to be publicly lashed and imprisoned. The crowd had become massive by time the commandant finished his announcement. Hushed comments ripped through the group as the soldier placed the blade against Randir's back, persuading him to his feet and towards the center of the square where two 10 foot poles protruded from the ground. Two of the other soldiers took a pole and attached chains to each of Randir's wrists. Removing the manacles and cranking a reel that pulled the slack from the chains, leaving them taut. Randir's arms were pulled up above his head in two directions awkwardly and painful. His feet barely touching the ground. He was held tight in place as they ripped his tunic off, leaving his back bare and vulnerable to the elements. The roar of the crowd died down as the commandant raised his hand and spoke. "The criminal is to be subjected to 20 lashes."

The soldier behind Randir traded his knife for a whip with hardened leather tips used for tearing at the flesh of the victim. Randir knew there was no getting out of this. The soldier tested the whip letting out a loud crack. He tried it again, another even louder crack. The sound reminded him of distant thunder. He took a deep breath preparing himself for the inevitable. The first strike of the whip was so fast, there was a delay in reaction. He heard the crack but only seconds later did the pain register in his brain. His skin had become so numb he almost couldn't feel the leather tearing into his flesh. There was a pause long enough for a scream to fill the air. He searched the faces of the crowd, looking for the owner of the scream. Another crack, pain burned through his shoulders and heat rippled down his spine cooling as the winter wind joined the spectators. The scream came again. It took a moment for him to realize that the owner was himself. The cry escaped his throat and broke the tense silence.

Another crack, another scream and hoarse breathing. His vision had begun to darken at the fringes. A shadow slowly eating away at the world around him. Another crack, almost muffled and distant but the shock of pain was real and sharp. His throat had become raw from screaming, his voice quickly vanishing. His skin numbed and discolored by winter's cruel embrace. His fingers had begun to turn blue, his back and torso were stained red and the rest of him had become as grey as the blanket of clouds above.

The wisp of wind blew the hair out of his eyes. He watched the snow become bright red as drops of blood melted away the innocent white flakes. Another crack and his view of the world evaporated into darkness, his head dropping down, his chin resting against his chest. The crack of thunder fading into the background like white noise. A distant humming that was soon lulled into silence.

The soldiers dragged Randir out of the town's square and into the jail. Built to be below the town, the entrance hidden behind a panel in the guard hall. They wasted no time in tossing him into a cell in isolation. It seemed like forever until another person came into sight. A guard, younger than Randir. A human boy. He held a tiny tin plate in one hand, a bucket with a rag hanging out of it in the other. He could hear the water sloshing about as he moved carelessly down the narrow corridor towards him. His confident strides came to a halt outside Randir's cell as he waited for the door to be unlocked. He entered with caution, setting the bucket down at his feet, studying Randir as he went. His eyes instantly taken by the half elf's rough appearance. What little cloth that was still on Randir was soaked in blood. His face paled as he followed the lashes across Randir's back like some sick maze puzzle etched into flash.

Carefully he knelt beside Randir's body as he lay there on the floor, unable to move, frozen by both the cold and the pain. The plate held tiny scraps of food on it, pieces of bread so hard it made biting a rock look easy with a lump of a white substance dropped on top. Randir's stomach lurched at the sight of food. Bile crept up, burning his throat. His guts wrenched and his body shook terribly, trying to heave up contents that were not there. His hollow stomach constricted painfully, pulling at the wounds on his back, making them bleed more. His chest rose and fell, breathing hard as nothing came out. He collapsed to the ground, laying on the cold stone once more. His eyes staring up at the young man's. The young man's gaze was filled with disgust and horror but Randir could not tell if it was towards him or the state he was in. Either way it was a look that Randir was accustomed to.

Placing a gentle hand on Randir's shoulder, careful not to touch any injury, he reached into the bucket and withdrew the rag and began wiping away the blood. Randir did not understand what use it was. He was labeled a criminal and charged with crimes he did not commit. Crimes that by law, states he was to die. If the executioner did not get him then either injury, illness or starvation would. These tedious deeds were futile.

Randir's memory fails him in what happened next. All he can recollect is cold. He remembered being so cold. He remembered the throbbing pain a constant reminder of what was to come. The sound of water dripping ever so softly. The young man, out of his field of vision, Randir's gaze set upon the dim glowing torch light in the corridor. The world seemed to fade as if shrouded in a dense fog that slowly obstructed a path. A haze filled Randir's mind and his thoughts dwindled to nothing.

There was a terrible noise that filled the corridor. Tremors shook the very earth itself. Bits and pieces of the ceiling and portions of the walls and cell crumbled. The doorway creaked and moaned. Further up a ways, shouting and screaming came from the barracks above. There was a loud crack like the earth itself had split apart. The tremors came in waves, shifting and breaking the ground apart. Randir jumped to his feet to escape a crack that snaked it's way across the ground where he had been sleeping only moments before. The rusted hinges on the door snapped, causing the door to clatter to the ground.

Quick to his feet but cautious of his healing wounds, he slipped past the door and down the narrow passageway up the stairs. Rubble blocked one of two paths. All the cells he passed were either empty or blocked. He followed the corridor along its twists and turns until he came to a dead end. There was nothing there but a torch and a grate in the floor. Another shock wave of tremors came and he chose the path only a rabbit would take. Quickly he studied the grate, noticing it had been warped over time as the metal rusted and stone shifted around it. After assessing it, he carefully slipped his fingers into the gaps and held tight, lifting with all his strength. He was rewarded with a successful creak and pop as it broke free of the stone holding it in place.

Sure to grab the torch first, he knelt down and maneuvered his body into the tight space and dropped down, keeping the torch above his head. Freezing water splashed his face and soaked the bandages that wrapped around his torso. He remembered he had awoken the next day to find his wounds cleaned and taken care of. But then, they had been fresh. Now they were almost black with dirt and blood, soaked completely through. He waded through knee deep water, keeping close to the walls hoping to find an exit in the darkness and cautious of what lied in the murky water. He had heard stories of creatures that dwell in the sewers and underground depths. Of corpses forgotten and rising to the surface to claim unwary victims in the dead of night.

Randir shook the thoughts out of his head. Images of rotting creatures creeping through the murk to claim him as the next victim was the last thing he needed. He was psyching himself out. Creating foes where there were none and distracting himself from the important task before hand.

There was a long silence as the tremors seemed to fade. Randir followed the tunnel, carefully searching for a way out when one final tremor caused the path to warp and crack. He dove for cover as the wall gave way. The ceiling came down with it. A scream buried in the noise of the collapse caught his ear. Quickly his eyes searched the rubble. Falling on the sight of a silver clasp and pale blue cloth glinting in the torchlight. He wasted no time in pulling at the stones. Moments later he had successfully dragged the body free. With a moment's pause he brought the torch closer to get a better look at the unlucky fellow. Randir swallowed hard when he found this fellow to be the same young man who treated his wound in his cell.

Randir gave him a thorough once over, taking note of any obvious injuries which to his satisfaction there appeared to be nothing more then scrapes and bruises. While finishing his brisk examination of him, the young man began to stir. Randir placed a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention and to keep him still. "Are you alright?" Randir asked cautiously.

Looking rather dazed he stuttered "T-the floor..."

"You were lucky my friend. This place almost became an early grave for you." Randir nodded towards the massive mounds of rubble a few feet away, blocking the path entirely.

He looked in the direction of the rocks then back at Randir. "It's you again." He sounded bewildered. "Y-you saved me?"

"Consider it a debt repaid." Randir replied quickly as he rose to his feet, torch in hand, eager to find a new path out of the tunnels before another tremor comes and buries both of them alive.

The young man shakily got to his feet, taking a few cautious steps before speaking "What are you doing?" His eyes followed Randir but his attention seemed to be elsewhere. He flinched and jumped at every noise, his eyes sweeping the ceiling for any signs of weakness as another explosion rumbled through.

Randir looked to him and saw he had a knife tucked into his belt and a sword hanging off his hip.  He noticed Randir's eyes lingering on his weapons. "May I?" Randir asked. Unsure at first, he stared at the half elf then with a half-nod he withdrew the knife from his belt and handed it to Randir hilt first. Randir took note of this. He trusted Randir but not all the way. Opting to give Randir a lesser weapon than his own. Either way Randir nodded his appreciation figuring he could still take on the young man with the small blade if need be. Randir took the knife in hand before moving forth. "Know a way out of here?"

The young man nodded "I do. These tunnels have entrances all over the town, but one leads outside of it, far off in the woods."

"Lead on." Randir gestured forward as he took lead.

They followed the flow of water through many paths until they saw daylight. They came to a halt at a grate on the edge of a riverbank. With their combined efforts, they removed the grate and stepped into well missed sunlight. The warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds was enjoyed for a moment until a cool breeze vanquished its heat and embraced Randir's skin with a chilling kiss leaving goosebumps in its wake. Randir cursed the mountain cold under his breath.

Randir's joy was crushed in moments when screams erupted behind them. He turned to see smoke in the sky above the treetops, rising above the town. There was another tremor. An explosion. The town was being attacked. Randir looked to the young man to find his eyes filled with fear, staring unwaveringly from the sight. "My god....." He whispered, still watching the smoke.

The sound of movement in the brush at their backs caught Randir's attention. Before he could turn to investigate, a blade was at his throat, digging into his skin. A curse slipped past his lips. The young man turned to Randir with a questioning look, his expression twisted into terror and confusion. Masked individuals moved almost silently from the woods to surround them. Reflexively he reached for the knife on his belt, only to realize it was in Randir's possession. Before he could make a move for his sword, he was struck in the back of the head. Randir watched his eyes roll back as his body dropped to the snow. That same individual stepped over his body as if he were nothing more than a rock in his path and stood before Randir. All Randir could make from their cloaked form was the emerald eyes peering out at him through the slit in the mask. They gave a nod to their comrade then a bolt of pain shot through Randir's head. Suddenly he saw the snow covered ground rushing up to greet him then white turned to black.


	4. Unlikely Allies

        A sharp kick to Randir's side pierced through the veil of darkness. He blinked into the harsh light, trying to gain his bearings. A small gathering of tents and fire pits were laid out before him. Horses tied up nearby whinnied and neighed. Randir flexed his hands, testing the bindings that held him. They were made of a unique type of vine from a predatory plant that tightened the more one struggled against it. He was in a sitting position, back pressed hard up against a tree, as he turned his head to look around, the muscles in his neck knotted up painfully. His head throbbed as he glanced at the area. They were somewhere deep in the forest, trees and brush were thick here, making the encampment he was in difficult to access. That is, if you were a normal man. Their captors were of Elvish blood. Not just any elves though. The brands they bore on their skin marked them as part of the Rebels. A rune that resembled much of a leaf crossed by an arrow. They are the _Aldmaethor_. Warriors from the Tree.

A shadow fell over Randir as who he assumed was the leader, stood before him. His black hair tied back in a partial braid that fell over his shoulders, emerald eyes fixed on Randir while playing with the young man's knife. His gaze switched to follow the blade's edge as he inspected it, his emerald eyes shining, sharp and dangerous. They glinted with something that resembled a man pondering where he should place it. Then his eyes wandered back to Randir, that glint grew as if he found just the place. He toyed with it some more, making sure Randir got a good look at the freshly sharpened edge that revealed to him his disheveled appearance in its reflection.

He was trying to instill fear. To make Randir second guess his chances of getting out alive. He watched Randir's reaction but seemed disappointed. Randir's eyes weren't full of the fear he wanted. His look was more stoic than pleading and he gave no noise of begging. Randir has faced the executioner's blade twice in his life. A third time doesn't mean anything except fate's cruel humor. Each time he faced it, everyone around him died while he lived. But this time, there is no one left to kill but him. The elf leader placed the blade against Randir's throat, pressing it hard into his skin, leaving a small cut. Randir hissed slightly as the elf had opened a previous wound made there when they were intercepted by the river bank. Still not the reaction he wanted. He made a noise of frustration then gripped Randir's jaw, looking him over. His expression of annoyance quickly changed to amusement. "Feredir." He gave a fiendish grin.

That name caught the attention of his comrades who were busying themselves around the tiny encampment. A couple moved to his side. "What?" One questioned in bewilderment. A tall but young elf with white hair pulled back into a braided ponytail. His neck was marked with intricate runes but beneath them was a jagged scar that traveled from ear to ear.

"Feredir." He repeated, a hint of disgust added this time. The elf at his side looked from his leader to Randir with bewilderment. Feredir was the elvish word for hunter, term well used by the elves when speaking of Randir's people. Randir, being the last of a clan of beast hunters that hailed from the Black Mountains. Many elves looked down upon his people's actions and assumed they were born to stir up trouble and any backlash that befell them was well deserved. As they say, you can't always go into the Panther's den and not expect to get mauled sooner or later.

He pressed the blade harder "I should just kill you here and now Feredir."

"But you won't toror'." (Brother.) The elf leader hissed at Randir's words as they stared each other down. It seemed like hours had passed by time he withdrew the blade and to Randir's surprise, cut the vines holding him.

His comrade didn't seem pleased. "Veryan, mani naa lle umien?" (Veryan, what are you doing?) The white haired elf asked in disbelief.

"Amin caela noa." (I have an idea.) Veryan explained.

Randir listened to the two elves but found he had little care for it. "What have you done with my companion?" Randir asked, rising to his feet, stretching his shoulders and neck while rubbing the feeling back into his wrists.

"You mean the human you align yourself with?" Veryan growled, turning from his comrade to the half-elf. "The same enemy that imprisoned you." Veryan's eyes were fixed upon the rags that adorned Randir's body, still blood stained. His eyes flitting over the older evidence of being bound, the scars of bindings that marred the flesh and the remnants of wounds left behind on the half-elf's back from the bite of a whip. Veryan was sure he had found yet another worthy ally in his cause but he needed to know with whom the half-elf's allegiances were pledged to. Veryan reasoned to himself that the half-elf would be insane to protect human's after what had just happened to him.

"Consider him an ally, as long as he remains in my company." Randir returned with a sharp tone to his voice. He was unwavering in his trust which made the rebel elf question the lesser elf's sanity and perception.

Veryan narrowed his eyes at the half-elf in bewilderment. Obviously caught in disbelief that an elf would welcome a human to be their companion. Maybe once long ago when there were men that could be trusted but now all were enemies that turn like rabid dogs. "Come." The elf leader motioned Randir to follow as he turned towards a large tent, his body taut with frustration as he beckoned him inside.

Randir entered cautiously, glancing around he noticed three wooden posts in the center of the room, a stand of weapons next to them, just out of reach of the prisoners bound to the posts. The young man Randir had escaped the sewers with was bound to the middle post. The elf stood off to the side speaking with the guard in their native tongue, their voices hushed. Randir shook his head, less worried about the conversation amongst his captors and more about his companion. He approached the young man and gently touched his shoulder and shook it, trying to wake him. When he didn't respond, Randir shook more roughly. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

The young man stirred a bit. He rolled his head to the side, blinking his eyes and looking around then he began to panic. He squirmed and tugged on the bindings, his head whipped in every direction with fearful eyes. "W-wait. What? W-where am I?"

Randir squeezed his shoulder but when that didn't work, he slapped him "Get a hold of yourself. Hey!"

The young man grunted and blinked, craning his head upward. "You..?" He looked directly at Randir with wide eyes as he took in the half-elf's form.

"You my friend need to learn a new greeting." Randir joked trying to lighten the mood a bit while untying him with which he appeared to be having a little trouble with since the young man had struggled enough to make the knots in the vines near impossible to undo. As he worked away with stiff fingers, Randir almost didn't notice the quiet whimper that escaped the young man's throat, turning he saw the elf holding out the knife handle first. Randir took it and nodded his brief appreciation then cut the vines with ease. The young man dropped to the ground, his legs appeared to have fallen asleep on him. Frantically he tried to rub the feeling back into them as he watched the elf carefully, flinching with his every move. The elf took note of this. A small smile of satisfaction creeping at the corners of his mouth. A satisfaction that Randir's reactions failed to give him.

Randir knelt down beside the human. "Relax. No harm will come to you." Randir reassured as he glanced at the elf. "I'll make sure of that."

The young man nodded, stuttering out "O-okay." as he shrank back behind Randir in an attempt to avoid the rebel elf's piercing gaze.

The elf shifted his eyes from the human to the half-elf. "What is your real name Feredir?" He demanded.

"Randir." Randir returned.

"And yours, human?" Veryan eyes shifted once more to settle on the young man with a look that was kin to that a cat gives its prey before it pounces. A folly of distance that can easily and swiftly be crossed to deliver a deadly blow if he choose.

"A-Adam." The young man stuttered. Randir could see he was terrified, his entire body trembling. Like he had seen the executioner's blade. For him it was twice all in the matter of 24 hours. He was right to be fearful. He had escaped death in situations where many would have succumbed to it. But he was strong for one so young though it would seem that strength was wilting fast. His confident facade had crumbled. What once was in the tunnels now quickly vanishing beneath the scornful eyes of the rebel elf.

The elf's predatory smile returned for a moment then faded to a look of slight annoyance. "I am Veryan." He bowed, a gesture more out of habit than respect. His comrade stepped into the tent, cautious and respectful towards his leader. "This is my Lieutenant; Glandur. He will see you to your quarters."

"Wait...we're staying here?" The look on Adam's face told Randir he hadn't meant for that to come out. He shrank back again to hide behind the half elf. Now Glandur's sharp gaze was fixed upon the human making the situation even more uncomfortable. Randir shifted his body as if to shield the human from the elven lieutenant, returning a dangerous glare as if daring the white haired elf to make the first move.

"Yes." Veryan's voice broke through the heavy air. "You know where we are and with that we cannot allow you to go free." Veryan turned to leave, looking at Randir over his shoulder as he added "Not yet anyway." Before walking out of the tent leaving Adam and Randir alone with a less than enthusiastic Glandur.

Not only was Glandur their escort but he had also become their guardian. They were to go nowhere without him lingering nearby, hovering like a hawk above prey, watching their every move with suspicious eyes. At first it was amusing but as the days passed, he had become a very large thorn in Randir's side. Not only did Randir need to have Adam with him at all times due to his apparent fear and distrust of the rebel elves, but now his every choice was scrutinized by the pesky Glandur. Veryan made it apparent even though they were in his camp against their will they still had to earn their keep and they were to blend in as best they could. Both men swapped their previous attire for more befitting elven wear. Once they accomplished their attempts of blending, they moved on to fulfill the tasks given to them. They hunted or tried to hunt, Adam wasn't fair footed and tromped around the woods like a blind pony.

They gathered wood for the fires. Glandur's amusement was sated when Adam tripped over a root from a rather large oak and fell, scattering his bundle across the forest floor. One of the sticks had a sharp branch sticking out which left a long gash crossing his cheek, barely missing his eye. Randir saw to his wound then helped him gather his bundle before Glandur herded them back to the camp as the sun began its descent below the horizon.

They fished. Adam tried his hand at it for the first time. They found a nice secluded place downstream where the current had settled and the waters lay still. At first he was frustrated, pulling the line before anything could bite and a few times catching the bottom of the riverbed. Finally he got the hang of it and was pulling in fish every few minutes. His face lit up with triumph as he showed Randir his haul. His innocence reminded Randir of peaceful times. He was a young man with a child's heart wrongly thrown into a world at war. Given the task of soldier early on and told to carry the burden of the sword in the name of the emperor.

It wasn't long before the excitement ended. As they were gathering their haul into a massive wicker basket and began carrying it back to camp, Glandur exploded through the brush yelling ancient curses in Elvish. He seemed to have forgotten at whom he was speaking and quickly corrected himself. "Soldiers are coming! Hide!" He ordered then vanished as fast as he appeared.

With haste the two stowed their basket and rods in the bushes nearby and scrambled up into the trees, hiding in the thick branches of the canopy. To Randir's amazement Adam was as swift a climber as the Wood Elves. Using his momentum to propel himself higher into the branches with speed and careful steps.

When they were safely hidden away, they watched down below. On a merchant trail came a troop of men astride military stallions. These were no mere soldiers. They were Elite's much like the guards that took Randir in Rival. These men were a group of highly trained individuals who engaged the Rebels. Many elves died at their hands. Many villages brought to ruin and all it takes is a handful of these Elites. Randir realized Veryan may as well be in over his head in this war. He wouldn't survive a frontal attack by Elites and his guerrilla tactics were relatively useless against them.

There was nothing Randir could do though. They were safer hiding in the bush like squirrels from the hunt. The dogs of their death sniffing anxiously below. The Elite's crossed the river and dismounted from their horses, tying them off to the trees below them near the water's edge. The path through the woods narrows and becomes winding and dangerous. Even as trained as their horses were, they would not be able to make it. They would have to go on foot the rest of the way towards the  _Aldmaethor_  encampment. They took what they could carry, mainly swords and axes. One among them was an archer who kept his eyes to the trees. As they entered the woods, Randir was fearful he would spot them and for a moment Randir could have sworn he had. Adam's body began to shake, moving the branch he was perched on. The archer seemed to notice this and approached the tree, looking up into the thick branches. Luckily a raven had shared the branch with him and cried out as it fled, making a raucous in it's wake. The archer disregarded the motion and followed the rest of the group as they started on the trail towards the camp.

Randir released a sigh of relief and gently patted Adam on the shoulder. The gesture startled the human, causing him to lose his balance and nearly plummet to the earth. Quickly he caught himself on nearby branches and glared up at Randir with disapproval. Randir gave him his most apologetic look then motioned for them to descend. There was one guard watching the horses and another was gathering water at the river's edge, fairly close to their cache of fish. When their feet reached the ground, Randir motioned for Adam to take care of the soldier by the river while Randir got the one by the horses. He opened his mouth to protest but dismissed it and as stealthily as he could, made his way through the brush towards the river.

Randir kept out of sight, using the horses for cover. One of them got spooked by the half elf and reared back forcing the half-elf to dive out of the way as the soldier moved to calm the creature. The horse continued to panic, striking it's hooves out at the soldier. He dodged the best he could but was caught by surprise when one hoof made contact with his shoulder. He went down with a cry of pain, crawling away from the beast cursing under his breath. Randir took his chance and lunged out at him from behind, using the braid of vines he kept from his bindings. Randir looped them around the soldier's neck and pulled back. He kicked out trying to gain some leverage and using his uninjured arm to grab at Randir but to no avail. He huffed and choked, his hand hitting Randir's face on occasion. Randir jerked him to make him lose his leverage and have to grab around to find his face again. Randir could feel the soldier's body growing heavy as the energy left him with his gasping breaths. No air reached his lungs. With one more good jerk, he became limp and heavy. Slowly, Randir released him, his limbs dangling. His heart silent.

Quickly Randir dusted himself off and got to his feet, looking down the river. He saw an object floating in the water where he had sent Adam. His heart grew heavy as he cursed under his breath and made his way to the form all caution to the wind. Randir jumped into the river towards the body, wading in waist deep and grabbed it, turning it over he saw it was the other soldier. Randir pushed the body away and looked around desperate to find his young companion. A snap of a twig behind him drew his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he spied a shadow. Reaching into his belt he withdrew his knife and turned to see Adam leaning against a tree near their fish cache. His eyes seemed glossy, his face pale. His mind seemed to be elsewhere at the moment. His gaze fixed upon the dead soldier. That's when Randir realized it. This was his first kill.

Randir climbed back onto shore, quietly he moved to Adam's side "You okay? Adam?" Randir waved a hand in front of Adam's eyes. He knew it. He shook his shoulder gently. Adam gave no reaction. Randir shook him a bit more roughly calling his name a little louder. After a few moments of this he finally came to.

He opened his mouth to say something then he closed it and continued this like a fish out of water gasping. Randir squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. His head hung as he leaned against Randir. He placed a trembling hand on the half elf's forearm, his arm just hanging there like a puppets. His eyes staring down at the ground.

"I'm sorry Adam." Not knowing of anything else to do, Randir just stood there, hand clasped on the young man's shoulder. Like Randir had thought before. He was young, innocent. A young man with a child's heart. That light in his eyes has dimmed and his heart seemed cracked. He was not made for a world of war. A world of death. He was unwillingly thrown into it and given illusions of grandeur. Told lies and fairy tales that spoke of courage, chivalry, and duty.

And now because of Randir, he was tossed before the harsh foe of reality in an arena ran by the reaper himself. He had to fight a fight where it was kill or be killed. Where weakness was poison and strength ran like blood under a Draug Moon.

 

 

-Evening-

 

They heard a raucous coming from the encampment, snapping them out of their trance . With Randir leading and Adam close behind, they moved as quickly as they could while staying out of sight. As they grew closer they could hear the screaming of elves and the snarled battle cries of the Elite's. The encampment was in ruins. Small fires scattered about the earth. Bloody hand prints spotted the landscape. Arrows protruded from many places. Bodies littered the earth. A mix of elves and the few dead Elite's.

A startled cry escaped Adam's throat. He stood over the body of a she-elf. Her throat cut from ear to ear, multiple stab marks dotted her torso. Her clothes were torn off of her body. Blood stained her white-gold hair red, it's long flowing locks were matted and caked with mud. Randir crouched down beside her, noticing something clutched between her fingers. Even in death this object was held close. Gently, Randir pulled her fingers away to view a green pendant on a fragile silver chain. The pendant, made of a rare form of emerald was shaped like a leaf. Tiny hinges were attached, carefully Randir opened it. To his surprise a sweet melody drifted from the object.

The melody seemed so wrong. It's beautiful notes were like a siren's song. A sweet lullaby among nightmares. A fluted piece calling out to memories of old. It held a familiarity from his past. A distant life where no trace existed. Randir quietly closed the pendant and carefully slipped the chain over his head allowing it to lie above his heart. Given it's size, it was surprisingly light. Like a leaf riding a warm summer's breeze.

Randir cast a glance at Adam "You okay?" Randir didn't want to make him have to face anything more if he wasn't willing. He didn't want to break the young man. Adam swallowed hard, took a deep breath and nodded slowly. Randir nodded back as a familiar voice met his ears. It was an echo from deeper into the forest. "Come on." Randir picked up a bow from a nearby fallen elf and grabbed the quiver of another as he passed, moving into the treeline. He heard Adam take up arms with an elvish sword as well, following close behind. As they moved along, more bodies crossed their path. Elves caught in tree branches, blood pooling below. They were stuck with red arrows. The archer's mark. Dead Elites and elves were mere stepping stones along the way. Randir searched the faces of each elf they passed looking for Glandur or Veryan. So far no sign of either. He took that as a good omen.

Randir was so preoccupied with finding Veryan that he hadn't realized they were headed back towards the river. Not the quiet part where they fished but to a section with strong currents and fierce rapids. Randir figured Veryan had a plan. To lose them at the river. They approached the end of the forest where a rocky peak overlooked the water below. Veryan stood on the edge surrounded by the remaining 8 Elites. Glandur was nowhere in sight. The archer stood off to the side with an arrow knocked and resting on Veryan's heart.

Veryan wielded two elven swords with teeth bared. He wasn't going to be taken so easily. He watched the Elites with cold calculating eyes. To Randir it seemed as if he knew he wouldn't be getting out of there alive. It would take a miracle. But he was damn sure he was going to take at least a couple of those bastards with him on his way out.

If it was a miracle he needed, Randir was going to help him get it. He knocked an arrow and took aim. He set his sights on the archer who left himself open for attack. Randir took a breath and the whole world seemed to slow. He could hear Adam's sharp breathing behind him as he watched their rear. Randir felt the wind carrying the mist from the rapids coat his face in tiny gathering droplets. The leaves in the trees above fell slowly, drifting in silence. Randir steadied himself and released the arrow. In a split second it met its mark slicing through the archer's chest and piercing his heart. The archer cried out, letting loose his own arrow into Veryan's shoulder before dropping to the ground. Veryan hissed, stepping back towards the very edge.

The other Elite's turned, surprised that their comrade had fallen. Veryan took his chance and lunged at the soldiers, cutting them down one by one. They split up, two came at Randir, one at Adam while three took on Veryan. Adam may have been weak at heart but his skill with a sword was unmeasurable. He blocked every hit the Elite could throw at him. It was like child's play. He moved with grace and ease as he slashed and cut at the soldier, leaving long cuts across his cheek and torso. It was a game to him. Like a cat toying with a mouse, letting it think it had found freedom, only to swat it down with a clawed paw.

Randir pushed aside his surprise at the man's skill and took aim at the soldiers that approached him, knocking an arrow and releasing it to hit one in the knee. He buckled for a moment, his comrade stepping between Randir and him. Unlike his companions, he wielded a rather large axe. Not the type one would use for chopping wood. No, this was one forged for battle. It's blade sharp and riddled with scars that tell of many foes it had vanquished. Of dismemberment and landscapes bathed in blood.

He swung low with the axe. Randir dove to the side and rolled to a crouch, knocking an arrow as he went and drawing back. His attacks were slow and with such a massive weapon his balance needed to be perfect so as not to topple over with the weight when swinging it. Randir released his arrow hitting the elite's leg. Randir needed to take out his legs. Without them, he was vulnerable. He tore the arrow out and threw it to the side then lunged at Randir, heaving the bulky weapon at him. Randir dove again. He recovered quicker than Randir and swung downward. Randir was late in his reaction and barely had enough time to move out of it's path. The elite was trying to close the distance. To make Randir's bow useless in this fight. Randir dove out of the way as another attack came. He was running out of space. Randir crouched, staring at him. The elite was tiring out. He huffed, lifting his axe off the ground but he didn't come at Randir. At first Randir thought it was odd until he remembered his companion. Randir turned just in time to see his sword coming down at Randir. He used the bow to deflect the elite's blow, falling back Randir used his legs to launch him towards the axe man. They toppled into each other. The swordsman groaned, getting to his feet, favoring his uninjured leg. Randir reached for another arrow but found the quiver empty. With a grumble of frustration Randir hooked the bow over his torso and prepared himself for the swordsman's attack. The swordsman was over confident and lunged at Randir, leaving himself open. Sidestepping, the half elf grabbed the pressure points in his wrist, forcing him to release the sword and kicked him in the back, knocking him face first into the ground. Randir took up his sword, placing the point of the blade at the swordsman's throat.

The axe man was already on his feet and rushing up on Randir from behind. Randir had no time to react, leaving himself open he braced for the edge of his foe's axe when a blade appeared through his chest then disappeared with a sick suction like sound. He dropped the axe, looking down at the impalement then dropped to his knees as blood spouted from the wound. He fell, eyes frozen with disbelief. Adam stood on the other side with his blade dripping red. Randir gave a half smile and a nod to which Adam silently returned understanding the half elf's unspoken appreciation. Randir returned his attention towards the swordsman who held his hands up in surrender pleading mercy. Randir shook his head "You gave no mercy and in return you shall receive no mercy."

Randir buried the blade inside the swordsman's chest, piercing his heart. It was a quick death unlike that he gave the elves of the encampment. It was more than he deserved. With a bit of satisfaction, Randir withdrew the sword, wiping the blood off on his uniform before turning his attention back to Veryan. He had taken out the three soldiers and was shaking the blood from his blades with a very dark look on his face. Randir couldn't blame him given the fact that his people were slaughtered like cattle. Randir wouldn't be surprised if right now he was placing the blame on himself. After all, those people were his responsibility and he failed them. He walked to the edge of the peak, looking down into the rushing water. They could hear the roar of the rapids the closer they got, silencing all other sound. They were only a few feet away, the bodies of the dead separating them. Randir decided it best to give him some space. He was grieving. As much as he tried he couldn't hide it, it was easy to see. His head hung low, his shoulders hunched. His swords dangling at his sides. He had lost too many people.

Randir glanced at Adam as he stood beside him, looking to him for a moment "Come on." Randir gestured towards the treeline. "Let's clean this mess up." Adam nodded and started for the trees but Randir lingered a moment more. Watching him. Veryan may have been a rebel but he was a true and honest leader. His people were always put above all else. In these past few days Randir witnessed, not a murderer, not a rebel not even a monster. He wasn't anything like what the Empire portrayed him. What Randir saw was a man who would go out of his way to do anything for those who could do nothing for him. A smile crept at the corners of Randir's mouth as he realized he had gained a fondness for Veryan.

Randir sighed and sheathed his blade, turning towards the trees and took a few steps before a slight shift in landscape caught his eye. His mind disregarded it as birds or leaves but Randir's instinct knew it was something more. He turned back to see it was one of the Elites. He struggled to his feet, a knife in hand. His eyes fixed on Veryan as he closed in on him. Veryan was unaware of this danger, lost in his moment of grieving. Randir jumped into action charging at the assailant calling out "Veryan!" Veryan's reaction was too slow as Randir's voice was clouded by the sounds of the rapids. The man was upon him. Randir launched himself at the foe tackling him. They rolled to the ground and over the edge, plummeting into the rapids below. The rushing waters dragged them under, pulling them further down. Their bodies smashed into rocks and were dragged across the riverbed getting tossed about endlessly. Randir struggled to the surface. No sooner did he find the way up when he was thrown into another boulder and dragged under, twisted and tossed in every direction, occasionally breaching the surface for a second of air before being pulled into the icy hell once more.


	5. Dreams of the Mountains

9 years ago....

 

A young elven woman gazed out the window of the tiny cottage. She searched the treeline as two familiar forms emerged. With a smile dancing on her lips, she ran to the door to greet them. The first form was a tall man with broad shoulders. He wore ragged clothing made of animal hides. His brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail leaving a few strands hanging in his face. He had content livid eyes that lit up when they landed on the she-elf's figure. A smile chased away his tired appearance filling him with energy as he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her intimately. Behind him was the second form. A child, tall for his age with slender build and fair features. His appearance was much like his father's. Tired and worn but his eyes, much like his mother's were full of spirit and shined in the waning moonlight.

He had a young ram tossed over his shoulder with ease, it's hind hooves bound with braided vines. He smiled triumphantly when his mother looked over his haul. His strength came from his mother's bloodline. A heritage of elven warriors. Also from his mother's bloodline, he was a natural with a bow. A true shot, deadly accurate. Even so, his father decided to teach him swordsmanship. as he put it, a bow was well and good but when faced with preserving one's honor, nothing can accomplish that more than a skilled hand wielding a fine sword.

The elven woman held the door for her husband and child, welcoming them into the warmth of their home. She kissed the cheek of her son and patted him on the shoulder, congratulating him on his hunt. He beamed at his mother with pride, handing off the ram to his father as he pulled his mother into a hug. She smiled, hugging him tightly. "Gi melin yonya." (I love you son.)

"Gi melin ammë." (I love you mother.) He spoke back, the words light and sweet. He gave her one more smile before turning in for the evening. He was exhausted from the hunt and needed rest. The season of planting was upon them and they needed to plow the earth and ready it for the harvest seeds. As he laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling thinking to himself, he could hear his mother's gentle voice singing a soothing sweet elven lullaby. It drifted through the house filling his head with soft notes that quelled his thoughts and rocked him into a deep sleep filled with pleasant dreams of adventure and wonders.

He was ripped from his dreams by a startling scream. He sat bolt upright, whipping his head in every direction as he searched his room. Another scream pierced the night. "Ammë?" (Mother!) He called out. Sobbing filled the night air in response. "Ammë!" (Mother!)

"Rehta!" (Help!) His mother's voice begged. "Ani lerya!" (Release me!) She screamed again. It was full of pain and fear. He ran towards her voice finding her dragged out in front of their home. She was faced with no other option and fought back at the soldiers who surrounded her. The soldiers wore red armor accented with black. Their faces were hidden. One held a sword at his mother's throat. He froze in the doorway, unknowing of who was behind him. He moved forward as arms wrapped around him, pulling him back.

He cried out, kicking and struggling but to no avail. The form holding him was large, the arms gripping him adorned in the same red armor as the soldiers. His mother turned to see him "Vá! Á pusta!" (No! Don't!) She begged the soldiers.

He fought back at the soldier, squirming and kicking until finally, he was able to slip from his grasp just enough for freedom. He took the soldier's sword and slashed at him, cutting through the armor and opening a deep wound across his chest. The soldier lunged fiercely at the boy, grabbing at the boy's neck. The boy drove the sword through the soldier's middle as far as the hilt would allow. The soldier groaned and wheezed, sliding back off the sword to the ground.

The boy turned to face his mother as she screamed "Noro!" (Run!) The boy shook his head about to speak in protest but his mother cut him off, commanding him sternly "Drego Randir!" (Run Randir!) The rest of the soldiers were already in pursuit, closing the gap. The boy made a split second decision, running further into the cottage. He grabbed his bow from his room before throwing open his window and launching himself through the narrow gap. He made for the woods, heading for the thick brush of the tree line.

He looked back for only a second. Just in time to see the enraged commander decapitate his mother. He watched in horror; the pained scream of his father filled his ears. He watched helplessly as his father rush the commander, sword in hand as he screamed his wife's name like a war cry. "Valadhiel!" The cry was ended as the commander cut his father down with ease. His father fell knowing he didn't even leave a cut on his wife's killer.

The boy realized there was nothing he could do. Tearing his eyes away, he made for the woods, ducking into the shadows to avoid being detected by the soldiers who scanned the area in search of him. He made his way for the town nearby only to find it in ruins. The bodies of the men were strung up and pinned to the buildings like warning signs. Houses were looted, doors kicked in, drag marks led to the center of the square where the corpses of women and children were decapitated and burned. Horses were running loose dragging the corpses of the town guards behind them.

The boy cut the horses loose of their dead cargo and mounted one, making for a pass in the woods that led down to the next town. He needed to find help. Find someone who knew what was going on. Donning a cloak and packing up what little food he could find from one of the shops, he began his journey with a heavy heart and mournful eyes.


	6. Where the Wolf and the Deer Play

9 years later......

 

The river trickled out into a small lake, the rushing waters became tamed at the mouth, losing the wild current to the crystal stillness. The glass-like surface was unbroken, shrouded in the early morning fog. The birds already singing sweet melodies on the wind as dragonflies buzz and hover over the water. They unknowingly coaxed the fish below to leap, shattering the surface as they snatch the delicate insect out of the air leaving ripples in their wake. The movement of creatures filled the woodlands. The worst of the winter and all its ice and snow had already melted and passed. The animals were grateful, creeping after the green leaves that sprouted from the earth.

A line is cast slicing through the water disappearing as the hook sinks deep into the depths. The dwarven fisherman holding the cane pole sits quietly on the bank nestled in the caressing roots of a tree, waiting for a bite. With one hand he patiently stroked his braided beard. His long brown hair tied in a hasty ponytail led a trail down his back. He leaned back against the tree with a sigh, his legs stretched out comfortably. The line jerked, the cane bending as the line circled in the water. Calmly he pulled the line bringing a very large fish in. He smiled to himself with accomplishment as he unhooked the catch, tossing it in a woven basket then added another piece of bait to the hook before casting it back out.

The sun had begun to break through the fog touching the damp forest leaves, reflecting the light from the tiny droplets that covered the surface. The day had started to heat up with its appearance. The dwarven fisherman was successful at his task, a basket of fresh fish for dinner. He strapped his poles to his pack and carried the basket on his back, returning to his cottage nearby. He kept to the bank, following a narrow path through the reeds and tall grass treading lightly through the muddy spots, careful not to get sucked in. His eyes watched the shallows as tiny fish filled with curiosity followed his reflection thrown across the water.

He watched as they gathered together, following him along the shore, not staying too close but keeping away from the deeper parts for fear of the lurking larger fish. The school of gathered tiny fish quickly dispersed, scattering in all directions as ripples ran through the water emanating from a large mass floating just off the edge of the drop off where the water's depth darken drastically. The dwarf looked up with a shocked expression to see a body face down, pushed by the waning current near the mouth of the river, one arm slung over a protruding root, keeping the body in place.

He dropped his poles and basket onto the shore before wading into the cold waters. The snow may be gone but the chill of winter's embrace holds tight to the water's of the lake; yet to be warmed by the spring's smiling skies. He was waist deep in the cold water before he reached the body, freeing the body from the entangled roots and pulling him to the shore lying him on the grass near his fish basket.

As he inspected the young man, Thatch noted the unlucky lad was human but he wore the traits of elven blood discreetly. The slight point of his ears, the fair features hidden behind long hair and scars. The young man opened his eyes for a brief moment, a small groan slipped past his lips before his eyes slipped closed once more. The dwarf took note of the lad's peculiar eyes. To any normal man they looked normal but to the dwarf, he knew that the eyes of an elf reflected the light of life. A spirit like none other peered out at the world, recognizing all it's wonders. But this one, unlike most elves, his light appeared dim. Like the flame of a candle fluttering in the distant breeze waiting for the inevitable when the caress of the air would soon smother it leaving a charred wisp of smoke in its wake.

The dwarf hefted the young lad over his shoulder, took up his poles and fish in his free arm and hurried home. The cottage was small and comfy. The white stone that made up its structure shined nicely in the sun, polished smooth by the elements. On the inside there were three rooms. The kitchen and fireplace made up the main room where the entryway was. The second room was where the dwarf slept. There was a bed, a chair and a dresser. The third room was used mostly for storage. Every room was fitted with a decent sized window. The furnishings were hand carved by the dwarf himself. He was mighty proud of his handy work. There was a kitchen table, the pantry cupboard and a rocking chair by the fireplace. On the mantle of the fireplace a mighty war axe was displayed. It looked as if it hadn't been used in battle for years and yet its polished steel reflected the light shining in the windows.

The dwarf placed the basket of fish on the counter and laid the unconscious lad in his bed careful in case there were injuries unknown to him. He grabbed a blanket from the store room and wrapped him up tight. His skin felt as cold as ice indicating he had been in the water awhile.

"Who is he, Thatch?" A small voice squeaked warily.

The dwarf; Thatch, adjusted the blankets, looking over his shoulder toward the mantle. Near the war axe was a vase of wildflowers, odd to have bloomed this early but with a little help from one of nature's best they were full and vibrant. "You can come out Rosalie."

A soft green silken form appeared from the wood frame, phasing out of it."Thatch?" The shy creature questioned, watching the sleeping newcomer with fearful eyes as she approached her dwarven lover. She was wrapped in a fitted mint green gown that cut short at her thighs in the front, draped long and flowing at the back. Her hair was as red as roses and her eyes were a deep shimmering blue.

"Don't worry my dear." He returned his attention to the young lad. The young man shifted in place, giving out another groan. His body trembling in the cold. Thatch moved to the fireplace and tossed a few logs on the warm coals, trying to provoke the embers back into the hungry gluttonous state.

While Thatch worked on heating the cottage, Rosalie moved closer to the young man, her curiosity pushing her caution aside. As he shifted again, she froze completely still, holding her breath. She watched his chest rise and fall in long shallow breaths. His skin was pale like the petals on an apple-blossom. His hair as dark as the bark of the old oak trees framing features so fragile they seemed to be carved from marble by the hands of the gods. She pushed back his wet hair and saw a small thin silver chain of elvish make reflecting the light of the morning sun back at her. Carefully, to avoid waking him, she plucked at the chain, lifting a small emerald object in the form of a leaf. She opened it, a sweet heavenly melody drifted from the object as she closed her eyes and allowed the tune to fill her mind.

In the kitchen, Thatch could hear the tune. It was enchanting like the songs Rosalie would play on her harp. A smile crept across his face as the embers took hold of the logs and roared into a comfortable blaze. He sat on his haunches, watching the flickering flames, his mind carried away with the tune until suddenly there was a shriek from his room. The music stopped abruptly accompanied by a thump.

Thatch was quick to his feet and at the entry of the room in time to see the young lad awake, sitting bolt upright, staring at Rosalie with wide eyes, his hand clutching the emerald locket to his chest. Rosalie had pressed herself up against the wall with a surprised jump, keeping distance from the young man. In the process she had knocked over the chair that sat beside the bed. They both seemed to be holding their breath as if the very act of exhaling could make the other vanish. The young man appeared to be dumbstruck. He tossed a glance at Thatch then returned his eyes to Rosalie.

Her appearance wasn't all that surprising. She just looked a bit out of sorts in the little cottage next to the rough looking Thatch. But to the young man, he could see an aura surrounding her. A light that separated her from all else. "A dryad....?" He breathed, the question was to no one in particular.

Rosalie stepped towards the young man with that same bit of curiosity as before. "How do...you know that?" Her voice was hesitant at first.

"Isn't it obvious Rosey? He's an elf." Thatch answered the question. He realized this young man had an eye for life's hidden clues. Rosalie hid herself very well, even going as far as to blend in with humans. If the wrong person was to find out what she was, the consequences would be dire. But elves were so in tune with nature that even the glamor of a dryad couldn't fool them. Even the eyes of this young lad were sharp enough to see through it.

To Thatch's surprise, Rosalie wasn't too worried about the young lad knowing her secret. She was intuitive. She figured the young man would be no menace towards her. Especially in his predicament. A half elf/half human wasn't something you see every day. The act of an elf falling in love with a human was taboo even more so to have a child with one. The children of elves and humans were outcasts by birth. Most elves would kill them on the spot, seeing them as an abomination. Most humans nowadays wouldn't hesitate to kill them either, seeing the elf in them as the sign of a monster thanks to the Empire labeling all elves as murderers and rebels. Marking them to be slain upon the spot. This young man was in a harder spot than most. Hated by all. Always looking over his shoulder. Fearful of waking up to a blade at his back or a noose around his neck. Rosalie couldn't imagine living a life as such.

Thatch picked up the chair Rosalie had knocked over and leaned on it from behind "How are you feeling?" He asked, eying the young man closely.

"I'm fine." He replied with a quiet tone, eyes locked with Thatch's as he tried to conceal a shiver. His skin still felt the chilling embrace of the river. His body ached all over. His head throbbed painfully from colliding with a boulder. He was scraped and bruised and in a few places, maybe even broken but he played off being fine. He broke eye contact with the dwarf for a moment to watch Rosalie leave the room then he returned his stare to his host.

Thatch raised an eyebrow knowing well he wasn't as okay as he pretended to be. The dwarf wasn't born yesterday, still he wasn't going to press on it. "What's your name lad?"

"Randir." He replied nonchalantly still holding the pendant at his chest; a clear reminder of how he ended up feeling like he got trampled by a horse.

A noise came from the other room, the sound of Rosalie moving around in the kitchen. She bumped into the kitchen table, the legs scraped against the wood floors. Thatch looked towards the doorway for a moment, giving Randir a chance to tuck the pendant under his shirt and out of sight. Thatch looked back at Randir, remembering the pile of fish he had caught earlier that day. "You hungry lad?"

Before Randir could open his mouth his stomach gave it's own response with a loud rumble. Thatch gave a hearty laugh with a wide smile of amusement. The lad was odd and not one for much talking but he reminded Thatch of himself when he was younger. He stood up, scooting the chair back to it's rightful place before heading towards the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind fish."

 

 

-Evening-

 

"Feredir!"

"Randir!" Adam and Veryan called out as they searched the riverbanks for their lost friend. Adam walked ahead, keeping a bit of distance between him and Veryan. Even after the past few days, he was far from trusting the rebel elf. The only reason he stuck around was to find Randir, he owed him that much after all, the half elf did save his life more than once.

"Feredir!" Veryan called out again, his voice echoing into the woods.

Adam stopped in his tracks, about to call out then stopping mid-inhale when he noticed an eerie silence.Veryan's footsteps ceased. A shiver ran down his spine. He held his breath, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword. He turned quick with his sword drawn, tip to the chest of Veryan. Veryan's own elvish blade was drawn, leveled at Adam's throat.

A string of elven curses fell from the elf's lips. The rebel's gaze was cold and dark, a look Adam returned with a sharpness almost foreign for the young man. The sudden change in this young man raised red flags in Veryan's mind. He easily switched between a whimpering cowardly pup to a deadly cold hearted man. It was a dangerous transition in the expanse of a day. Veryan doesn't trust man, least of all this man.

"What do you think you're doing elf?" Adam growled, his eyes fixed on Veryan.

Veryan returned the look "I could ask you the same thing, Adan." He pressed the blade against Adam's flesh, leaving a line of blood.

Adam didn't even notice the cut. He was focused solely on Veryan, the urge to cut him down was almost overwhelming, fueled by blood boiling anger.

Veryan's attention was focused on Adam until a noise caught his attention. He averted his eyes for a moment to glance down river, his elven gaze picking up movement.

Adam used the distraction to his advantage, slashing at Veryan's chest, only succeeding in cutting his armor but the surprise was enough to satisfy the young man.

Veryan jumped back, blade set in defense, his hand touching the sliced fabric of his armor. He was taken aback at how easily he let his guard down. He mentally scolded himself for becoming so soft. He glanced from Adam to the source of movement but he had lost it. Quickly he sheathed his blade. "We'll finish this later."

It pained him to miss out on a fight but their were more pressing matters and right now it was to investigate that movement. He bolted into the brush, dodging trees and slipping between branches, moving swiftly.

Adam sheathed his blade and ran after, pursuing his adversary with confusion and frustration, calling after the elf.

Veryan burst through the brush after looping back to the riverbank in time to see what appeared to be a dwarf carrying a large form away from the water. Adam had finally caught up, standing directly behind the elf and followed Veryan's gaze finding nothing of interest.

"What are you up to?" Adam drew his sword again and placed the tip at the center of Veryan's back, suspicious of the elf's intentions.

Veryan shook his head with amusement at how childish Adam was being. "Put that away before I make you regret your actions."

Adam hesitated, smirking to himself not taking the elf's words seriously. He didn't need to, he thought. He had the upper hand.

Veryan warned again "I mean my words Adan."

Adam pressed on, not believing the elf's warning.

Frustrated, Veryan found Adam was on his last nerve. With inhuman speed, he turned on Adam, taking his sword from his hands and throwing the young man to the ground, pinning him with blade at his throat. Veryan picked the young man up and pressed him hard against a large tree, baring his teeth; he spoke harshly "Are you done throwing a tantrum you pathetic whelp?"

Adam was taken aback. Veryan had tossed him about effortlessly. The reality of the situation finally hit him. He was nothing compared to the strength and power of the rebel elf. He was outmatched in every sense of the word. Veryan had just been toying with him, allowing him to fall into his little fantasy of ever being his equal. Adam was speechless, his couldn't even look Veryan in the eyes.

Veryan lowered the blade and held it out to Adam who took it back slowly, allowing it to drop at his side. Adam stood there, the tree at his back supporting his defeated form. His eyes searched the ground as if an answer was lying among the decaying leaves and mud, obstructed by broken branches. The tip of his blade rested in the dirt, trailing circles as it dangled from his grasp.

Veryan stepped away, turning his back to Adam, looking out over the lake. The glassy surface was undisturbed in the silence. His eyes wandered up towards the branches reaching high for the sun's warm touch, tiny green buds dotted along its arms.

He sighed to himself as a slight breeze blew through the trees, lifting the leaves to dance across the earth. He watched them in their carefree motion. He sensed Adam's uncertainty. He knew the young man's fear of his kind as he knows humanity's fear. Time will pass but their fear will not unless he makes a change. He scolded himself. If he can change one man's opinion of elves, it will ripple like the leaves falling to the surface of a lake. Clashing into each other, influencing the outcome of one another. He spoke softly, turning towards Adam "Adan, I need your help and therefore I need your trust."

Adam looked up with puzzlement. He was hesitant, thinking it to be a trick but that didn't stop him from listening further or it from gaining his interest.

Seeing the spark of curiosity in the young man's eyes, Veryan continued "Can you do that?" He aimed to nurture that curiosity to bring the young man closer.

Adam didn't say anything, he just nodded. Veryan noticed the young man's grip had tightened on the hilt of his sword. It was the sign that Veryan was searching for. He added "Now, I believe I have found our missing half breed." 


	7. The Journey of a Hundred Miles...

-Later-

Veryan had figured an elaborate plan to charge into the dwarven residence, blades ready. If there is one thing Veryan despises as much as men, it's dwarves. The last hundred years has left the two species at odds with each other. Between failed peace treaties and poaching on elven lands, raiding dwarven forges and fighting each other over precious resources, they two beings sneered at even the mention of the other.

Adam just shook his head at Veryan "I have a better idea. Why not just go up and knock on the door and ask if Randir is there?"

Veryan blinked at the boy, incredulously. "You've got to be joking. You can't trust a dwarf."

"You say the same of man." Adam pointed out. "And half breeds. Haven't we proven you wrong? After all, Randir risked his life to save your skin." Adam pushed the fact of Randir's self-sacrifice into his face, pressing a response from the elf. Veryan just looked away, his shoulders taut with his frustration at the young man's continuous proddings.

"Fine. Do as you wish. I'm not going to protect you too." Veryan crossed his arms.

Adam shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his sword as he headed up the narrow path towards the dwarf's cottage. Night was falling quickly and Adam was determined to get this over with soon. When he reached the doorway, he knocked softly and waited patiently.

He looked around at the area, studied the worn path that led down to the water's edge. He inspected the cottage, it was old and obviously had seen better days but it was cozy in appearance. He was about to knock again when the door opened slowly, a short figure with a long braided beard peered through the crack. His brown eyes looked Adam up and down. In a heavy booming voice, he demanded "Who goes there?"

Adam put on his most polite persona, shifting from the soldier to the wary farm boy. "I'm sorry to bother you sir;" He folded his hands and twiddled his thumbs nervously. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. He fell into the river and..." The dwarf opened the door a little more, allowing Adam's eyes to peer into the soft glow of the home. Sitting near the fireplace was a familiar figure, wrapped in blankets. "Randir...?"

The figure turned around to look at the young man. "Adam?" He jumped to his feet but hissed in pain as his wounds still haven't yet fully healed.

The dwarf opened the door all the way as Randir crossed the room to him. "I thought you were lost for good. We scoured the river for you. Was about to give up hope." Adam explained.

"You know this lad?" The dwarf asked, glancing between the two men.

"Yes." Randir nodded. "This is my companion, Adam." He introduced the two. "Adam, this is Thatch and his wife Rosalie."

Rosalie peeked her head around the corner of the doorway, watching Adam. "Pleasure to meet you." Rosalie curtsied shyly.

"And the one creeping in the shadows is Veryan." Randir added. Adam and Thatch looked at Randir curiously as Veryan stepped out of the darkness behind Adam. His eyes were narrowed at Thatch with suspicion. Adam turned slightly and jumped when he noticed the elf's looming form.

"Dammit. Don't do that to me." Adam warned the seething rebel.

Thatch returned the dark glare at Veryan. Randir took note of the dangerous air gathering between the two inhumans. Before the glare could kill either of them, Rosalie interjected "Thatch, are you going to leave them out there all night?"

Thatch blinked then sighed "That wouldn't be too kind of me. Come in out of the cold." He stepped off to the side and held the door open for the newcomers. Adam walked inside shyly and Veryan moved in behind him, guarded and suspicious, eying the dwarf as he closed the door behind them then moved to the fireside to warm himself. Adam had already joined Randir near the flames giving the half elf a good once over. He noted Randir was spotted in bruises and cuts, normally an elf would have been nearly healed but Randir's human traits slowed his recovery a bit. Adam had seen the swiftness in which his wounds healed once cleaned, they would vanish in a matter of days. After spending his time mending the elf's wounds back in the prison he was amazed that even the worst of the lashing had all but healed, leaving just a faint scar behind as reminder of what the half elf endured just a couple days prior.

Thatch took a seat and Rosalie stood behind him, draping her arms around his neck and humming the tune from the pendant. Veryan stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the dryad and the dwarf. "Never thought I'd see a dwarf and a dryad married." Veryan stated.

Rosalie smiled as Thatch raised a hand and gently squeezed hers. "Aye laddy."

"These are strange times." Veryan stated.

"Speaking of strange times, what's an elven lord doing all the way out here with a human and a half-elf?" Thatch questioned. "Veryan of the  _Aldmaethor_."

"Seeking retribution for my people." Veryan spit out, a sharpness returned to his eyes as they locked with Thatch's.

Thatch raised an eyebrow at the rebel elf. "Aye and what has that accomplished thus far?"

"You wouldn't understand dwarf." Veryan growled. His eyes fixed upon Thatch.

"Really now?" Thatch rivaled the rebel elf's words. "Please, do tell. A dwarf of all people wouldn't understand the tragedies of an elf."

Veryan opened his mouth to speak but was caught by Randir's stern look. He closed his mouth and glared at the half elf before giving one last piercing look at the dwarf. "When you're done here Feredir, I'll be on lookout." With that, Veryan turned and stormed out the door and disappeared into the brush. As the door slammed behind him, Adam flinched then shook his head, looking up from the fire to Randir with concern.

"You'll have to forgive my companion." Randir apologized. "He is grieving the loss of many at the moment. The empire attacked their camp and few were able to escape." Randir explained.

Thatch shook his head. "No need to apologize laddy. I understand. Before you both were even a thought to your parents, my kin suffered the same injustice. It's a shame to see history repeat itself." Thatch explained.

Randir nodded in agreement and the four fell silent, sitting in the glowing firelight. It was Adam who broke the silence, obviously uncomfortable as he grew more restless as the quiet continued. "Now what?"

Randir sighed as the question had been on his mind for a while now as well. What now? What were they to do? The Aldmaethor were quickly dispatched by the Elites and a fight with them nearly ended the three of them. Randir wasn't sure he could go up against any more of them as is. They were lucky the first time and had the advantage of surprise on their side. "I couldn't say." Randir admitted. He wasn't one for planning. But he had an idea. They needed information. Intel of why the empire was waging war against the elves. Of course, everyone knew the empire and the nonhuman's butted heads over many issues for centuries. But they never ended in all out war and genocide. This was unheard of. The Elites were targeting elven settlements and slandering them across the country trying to persuade the people to hate them as well. That the elves were dangerous and declared war first. The little known fact was, the empire declared war on the fair folk first. But they weaved a tale of deceit and lies that the public ate up.

The first attack on elves was covered up and told it was retaliation for a small farm town that was besieged by elven hunters who tried to claim the farmlands as their territory. When the farmers refused, the elves cut them down. The real story was it was the imperials who did the killing of the farmers after they refused to pay the ridiculously high taxes on the land. The farmers enlisted the aid of a group of huntsmen who just so happened to be elves who took pride in their close friendship with the local farmers, helping them with their harvest in return for permission to hunt the farmer's lands. When the imperials came to collect the taxes by force, the elves intervened to protect the farmers but the imperials were too many and slaughtered all who refused. As well as any witnesses. This was just the beginning to all the madness.

Randir sighed and tugged the blanket closer around himself. The thoughts of the history between the imperials and the elves brought back dark memories. Because of the empire's prejudice and greed, his people had to suffer along with many others. The group he had traveled with before Rival was a group of two tribesmen whose tribe had been mostly wiped out by plague, a bard and a couple merchants. They didn't mind nonhuman's. At one point they had been travelling with a mage and his halfling companion and not long before that two gypsy sisters who were trying to meet up with their group at a barbarian settlement where they would be guaranteed safe passage into the country of Brehemen. He had met many people in his travels, a few would welcome him with no other thought towards his bloodline while others treated him like a rabid dog and kicked him to the gutters without a second thought. The sharp sting he felt from the looks the people he'd pass would give him, the revulsion in their eyes. He wondered if he truly did deserve such horrid treatment. As he would begin to fall under the dark cloud that shrouded his thoughts and ruined any good mood in a matter of seconds, leaving his heart heavy. The cheerful words of his mother would fill his mind. The memories of his home, where men didn't criticise his mother. Where his father was a great leader who loved his people dearly, like Veryan did. Just like Thatch had mentioned, history has repeated itself. What happened to his home and his people has happened to Veryan's people. This senseless slaughter must be stopped. Before what is done, cannot be undone. Before too many more innocent lives are lost.

"We must put a stop to this." Randir said softly, eyes locked on the flickering flames, eating away at the wood in the fireplace.

"How do you propose we do that?" Adam asked in disbelief.

"We take the fight to them." Randir turned to look at Adam, a steadiness in his gaze.

Thatch raised an eyebrow at Randir. "Sounds interesting. What do you have in mind laddy?"

Randir thought a moment more. "I've heard whispers that slavers have been taking elves from the Brethil Woods and selling them to those of the highest society. It isn't much but it's a start."

"You think they may know the Empire's plans? The reason for all this madness?" Thatch asked.

"I do. The slavers were once guards in the Imperial Legion and still bear the mark of the Emperor. I don't know why, but they're all connected." Randir explained. He needed more information before he can start to connect the dots. He sighed, removing the blanket and wrapping it around Adam's shoulders before heading for the door. Adam and Thatch looked at each other then at Randir as his form briskly crossed the room and slipped outside.

Randir was greeted by the cool breath of evening air spreading across his skin. The fading kiss of winter lingered often throughout the nights though Spring had already laid claim upon the lands, thawing the rivers and giving life to the trees and flowers. Even the birds returned to sing their songs but not this night. Even the ever present wisdom of the owls was absent. It took the half elf mere moments to feel the presence of the rebel elf, his brooding form hidden in the shadows from the prying eyes of the moon's silver beams and shrouded in the renewed foliage. Randir approached quietly as Veryan' gaze seemed fixed upon the glass like surface of the lake. He seemed present and yet distant all at once. The twitch of muscles in his shoulders signaled to Randir that Veryan knew he was near. He stepped into the empty space beside the rebel elf and stood in the quiet of the evening. He could feel the sorrow in the elf. It was like an unseen barrier breaking the air of serenity that would enchant all who looked upon the sight.

"There's a storm coming from the North." Veryan spoke softly, his gaze still fixed forward.

Randir looked towards the sky and admired the clarity in which the stars shone. Not a single cloud to blemish it's beauty. "We best prepare then." He responded softly. When he looked back to Veryan, the elf had turned to face him. His expression was shadowed in worry. His eyes reflected the heavy thoughts that weighed upon his mind. "Mani naa ta, mellonamin?" (What is it my friend?)

"Mani uma lye uma sii'?" (What do we do now?) Veryan asked softly. For once the rebel elf was out of ideas and at a loss. He had nothing left. His people were all but gone and he was the last of his bloodline. The Empire was hunting his kind down like dogs and he couldn't do a thing about it.

Randir understood that feeling. He knows the helplessness Veryan must be feeling. He could imagine that he feels even worse since his people died while under his command. Randir could imagine Veryan is blaming himself at the moment. But all that must be pushed aside for they have a job to do and a lot more people are going to die before it will be through. "Lye sana i' dagora a' sen." (We take the battle to them.)

Veryan looked up at Randir, his expression shifted from worry to disbelief. "Sut?" (How?)

"The Brethil Woods." Randir said. "A group of slavers under Imperial command has been seen taking elves from the woods and taking them to the Imperial City to be sold."

Veryan's eyes hardened and his jaw set. Randir noticed the fire in the rebel elf's eyes. "I see. We can't get into the Imperial City without being spotted but we can weaken their forces outside their walls."

"It's a day's journey to the Brethil Woods." Randir informed. The woods were familiar to him even though it has been a little over ten years since he walked them. His mother hailed from those woods and took him there often to teach him about the plants and the animals that called them home. Taught him quick remedies for cuts and illness. Since his parent's deaths, he hasn't been back there since.

"We better get moving then." Veryan spoke.

"We'll move out at dawn." Randir explained before turning back towards the cottage. 


	8. Allies or Lies?

Randir held true to his word. The three men rose before the first light of dawn and slipped out of the cottage making their way back to the Aldmaethor encampment. There they gathered what little supplies they could from the ruins and packed up the horses left behind by the Elites. The three were mounted up and started their way out of the camp when a short figure stepped into their path. Randir halted his horse, looking down at the form before him. "Thatch?" Randir questioned. The dwarf wore leather armor that protected his shoulders and his chest. On his back was a large axe.

"Aye, laddy. Don't think you're getting off that easily, do you?" Thatch raised an eyebrow at Randir.

"Thatch," Randir began. "I really appreciate what you did for me back there but we have to do this."

Thatch released a hearty laugh. "I'm coming with ya. Can't let ya have all the fun now, can we."

Veryan made a noise of amusement. "Let's see if you can keep up, dwarf."

Randir sighed and trotted his horse up beside Thatch and held out his hand. Thatch took hold of it and pulled himself up onto the saddle and sat in front of Randir, holding his axe in his lap. "You're leaving Rosalie behind?" Randir asked incredulously.

"Of course not laddy." Thatch spoke. Then came a surprised sound from Adam. Randir turned to find a form had positioned itself on the back of Adam's saddle. The earthy green hood was pulled back to show Rosalie beneath it's dark green material, a wide smile on her face.

"Thatch."Randir spoke sternly, looking down at the dwarf.

"Don't worry laddy. She can hold her own." Thatch explained.

"I promise I won't be a burden." Rosalie's soft voice drifted in the air between the three horses.

With a sigh Randir gave in. "Fine, but she's your responsibility."

Thatch smirked. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Veryan rolled his eyes and spurred his horse forward. "Get a move on Feredir." He prodded as he passed Randir and Adam. Randir shook his head then clicked his tongue, spurring his horse forward.

As the sun climbed to the highest point in the sky, the day grew warmer. The sun's rays beating down on their backs. The only ones who didn't seem to mind the heat was Rosalie who had pulled off the cloak to soak up the warmth and Veryan who brooded quietly ahead of the group. Even Randir who usually wasn't too bothered by the heat was beginning to feel it. His pale winter worn skin was beginning to take on a crisper color. 

He resembled more of an autumn evening then a winter's morn by time they stopped to give the horses a break near a stream. They were halfway to the Brethil woods when they dismounted. Adam led the horses to the water's edge to allow them to drink under the shade of a tall pine. Randir had crouched down beside the water's edge and cupped his hands together to bring the water to his lips. After a few refreshing sips, he splashed the cool liquid on his face before shaking his hands dry.

While the other's stretched their legs a bit, Veryan approached Randir by the water, urging him that they needed to pick up the pace. "The longer we dawdle with this foolishness," Veryan began. He gestured towards the others with his head when he said the word foolishness. "The more elves suffer at the hands of men." A bite of disgust hung on the last word. 

Randir's jaw set as he glanced around him. Veryan's hatred against men bothered Randir, more than it should have but he found himself giving his best to contain his own emotions on the subject. He reminded himself that Veryan was still dealing with what happened on the outskirts of Rival. While both elves have witnessed great tragedies, Veryan has placed the blame upon himself. Randir sensed it. This distance Veryan tries to put between them. The self-isolation. The urgency with which he has in their journey to the Brethil woods. Randir knows what is at stake but he can't have Veryan's impatience drive them into the ground.

Randir returned his attention back to the rebel elf. "We will get there in due time. The horses need a moment's break and then we will be on our way." He explained with sincerity.

Veryan released a heavy sigh of disapproval but he nodded begrudgingly. Randir clasped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "Do not worry so."

Veryan pushed away from Randir and turned away from him, heading back to his horse. Randir sighed and turned to find Adam standing behind him with inquiring eyes. Randir put on his most genuine reassuring smile. "Take the chance to cool down while you can. We will be heading out soon." He informed the young man. He patted Adam's shoulder as he walked past back toward his horse.

Wasn't much longer before they mounted up and moved on. The horses increased their pace to a steady gallop to which Thatch was a little displeased since with each bump he had to tighten his grip on the saddle so as not to fall off. If it weren't for Randir's arms around him, holding the reins he may have fallen a few times already but he caught himself on Randir and resettled on the saddle. Rosalie giggled from behind Adam, her arms wrapped around his torso as she leaned her head back and stared up at the sky. The clouds rolling across the sun giving shade to the travelers below. The birds flitted in and out of view, casting shadows on the land below.

Veryan kept an even pace on the other side of Randir, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the reins tightly. His eyes fixed on the path before them though appearing more distant then present.

As they rode, the landscape changed from grassy with the occasional boulder jutting out from the earth to the odd tree here and there. As they continued on, the number of trees increased until they found themselves riding towards a large cropping of ash white trees. By this time the sun had fallen from it's highest peak until it was below the crest of the horizon, giving way to the large pale orb that rose to take it's place. The leaves glinted in silverlight given off by the moon's rays above. The travelers slowed their horses to a slow trot as they approached the woods, eyes sweeping the landscape for any signs of trouble. 

They navigated the horses through the narrow path deep into the woods until they found themselves in a circular opening in the trees. The ground was covered in a soft moss dotted in tiny purple flowers. Randir was the first to dismount as he surveyed the area. He recognized the clearing almost instantly. Glancing around he cupped his hands together and sounded a bird call. Behind him, he heard the horses shift. He waited a moment before giving the call again. The hollow sound fluttering three times. He held his breath, listening. The woods were cloaked in eerie silence. He raised his hands up to his mouth to try again when a distant call responded. He smiled to himself as a group of figures emerged from the darkness among the pale trees.

"Mankoi caela lle tula sinome?" (Why have you come here?) A voice came from a black haired elf who stood before the rest. His eyes were narrowed at Randir.

"Amin tul a e' i' essa en' i' arwen en' i' taure." (I come in the name of the Lady of the forest.) Randir kneeled before the dark haired elf, bowing his head respectively.

"Amin sinta lle peredhil." (I know you halfling.) The dark haired elf stepped forward, standing before Randir and cupping his chin with his hand to raise his eyes to meet his. "Valadhiel?" The elf questioned as he searched Randir's face for his answer to which he found in the fleeting emotion that flashed across Randir's features at the mention of his mother's name.

"We come to offer you our help." Randir spoke, pulling away and lowering his gaze once more.

"Rise." The elf commanded. He turned his attention towards the rest of the group. "Come with me."

Randir turned towards the others and gestured with a tilt of his head for them to follow. As the others dismounted, three elves moved to take the horses by the reins and guide them away. As they followed the dark haired elf deeper into the woods, a handful of elves stood guard around them. It wasn't much further until they came to another large opening which led to a flowing river that curved its way under a bridge and surrounded a large carven stone structure. The structure had many staircases leading up to massive intricately carved archways. Large platforms overlooked the river made of silver wood from the pale trees surrounding them with wooden catwalks connecting them. 

The bridges over the river's serpentine body were made from the same silver wood. The river snakes its way around the stone structure and broke off into many different branches that flowed into glass like pools crowned by assorted wildflowers blooming vividly in many assortments of color. The stone structure had multiple balconies and pillars wrapped in lush green vines that blooms white flowers that were conelike with a pale pink or light purple interior that faded to the starlight white on the outside. Adam leaned close to Randir as he whispered "Where are we?"

"Lithaldoren." The dark haired elf answered as he led them up the stairway to one of the balconies where he politely excused himself. "A moment if you will." He gestured that they wait. Randir nodded as the elf disappeared through one of the massive archways. Randir released a long sigh as he returned his attention to his companions. Thatch and Rosalie stood together looking out over the landscape, Thatch in complete awe. It was rare to see a dwarf relish the same beauty the elves did. But of course, it was even rarer for a dwarf to fall in love with a Dryad. Like Veryan had mentioned before, these were strange times indeed.

Beside him was Adam who's eyes flitted about from one elf to the next as they walked in and out of the archways past them. The guards at the entrance watching him as well. Veryan on the other hand seemed no more relaxed than he had been earlier that morning. In fact, Randir could have sworn the elf was even more tense now that they were in Lithaldoren then he had on the road if that was even possible. Before Randir could open his mouth to speak, Veryan's name died on his tongue as the dark haired elf reappeared with two elves of platinum hair and fair silken robes of white behind him. Randir stepped forward, hoping for an audience with the Lady of Brethil.

"Milady is preoccupied at the moment. She will grant you an audience in the morning. Until then you are more then welcome to stay here for the night." The dark haired elf explained.

"Thank you." Randir spoke, nodding his appreciation.

"I am Mornefindon." He bowed respectfully in greeting then gestured to the two male elves behind him. "They will show you to your quarters and see to your needs. You are welcome to explore the grounds as well." He explained. "If you need anything, you need only ask."

The elves showed the travelers to their rooms. Adam, Rosalie and Thatch shared one room while Randir and Veryan shared another. Both rooms were side by side and had balconies that overlooked the forest below. The pale stone glowed in the moonlight. The rooms themselves were elegant enough. Two beds per room with one large table near the balcony. 

The night was warmer than it had been as of lately but there was still a slight chill to it. It was refreshing to his sun kissed skin. A blessing after the endless exposure to the sun's rays. Veryan had removed his sword belt and taken up position on the balcony as if on lookout. Randir had also removed his sword belt and was about to seize upon the opportunity to catch some shuteye when a knock came at the door. Randir begrudgingly got up and opened it to find Adam waiting quietly outside. "Is something wrong?" Randir inquired.

Adam shook his head, his face flushed slightly red as he spoke. "Just giving Thatch and Rosalie some," He fidgeted awkwardly as he searched for the words. " _alone_ time."

Randir raised an eyebrow at Adam and cleared his throat. "Well then. You can stay here for now if you want."

"Thanks." Adam released a sigh of relief, obviously not too enthusiastic about wandering around elvish territory by himself.

Though Veryan didn't seem to mind the idea. Adam no sooner entered the room and Veryan was brushing past to leave. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later."

He spoke without a glance back at the two men left standing in the doorway. Adam looked from Veryan's form moving further into the distance to Randir who simply shook his head. "He just needs some space." The half-elf explained before ushering Adam inside the room and closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

"Rehta!" (Help!) The scream dragged Randir out of his sleepy haze and had him rushing out of the room and into the corridor to investigate. He burst through the door with an equally confused Adam right behind him. Seconds later Thatch and Rosalie joined him. "Rehta!" (Help!)

Randir's gaze was fixed upon the figure of a young blonde haired elven girl who stumbled down the corridor frantically. Her appearance was rather disheveled. Her white gown was covered in dirt and flecked with red. She had a cut running across her cheek and tears running down her face. She turned to see Randir approaching her. "What is wrong? What happened?"

"Ro sane sen." (They took them.) She started, a string of words falling from her lips as she cried. "Ro vare lye nan' eller nae nir'." (He protected us but there were many."

"Who? Who is he?" Randir asked quickly, gripping the girl by the shoulders.

"The marked one." She sputtered out, gesturing to an imaginary mark on her neck.

"Veryan." Randir breathed. "What happened to Veryan?"

"The slavers came." The elf girl took a breath and spoke more clearly. "He fought them off. They took the others. I managed to get away thanks to him. But they took him as well."

"What is the meaning of this?" Mornefindon's voice echoed down the corridor as he briskly approached taking in the sight of the tearful elven girl and Randir who held her tightly in his grasp. "Explain yourself." Mornefindon demanded.

"One of my companions has been taken." Randir pushed past the girl and stepped towards Mornefindon. His eyes sharp. "He was defending your people against the slavers."

Mornefindon's eyes shifted from Randir to the elven girl then back, his body tense. "I must inform Milady." Mornefindon spoke quickly turning to leave.

Randir reached out and grabbed Mornefindon by the arm. "With all due respect, I cannot wait that long."

"What do you plan to do?" Mornefindon asked, turning back to face Randir.

Randir released the dark haired elf's arm as he spoke sternly. "I'm going to get them back."

Mornefindon gave a laugh of disbelief. "You're serious?" Randir fixed his gaze upon Mornefindon and nodded. "Very well then." Mornefindon gestured to the two guards who approached. "Ready the horses." The guards gave a curt nod before rushing off.

"Thank you." Randir gave a partial bow in appreciation.


	9. Snakes and Rebels

Veryan gave a groan into the darkness shrouding him. He sat up raising a hand to his throbbing head, finding his hands clasped in shackles. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he found he had an iron collar clasped around his neck, locked in place. Looking around he saw three elven girls huddled together in the dark, clinging to one another in the corner. A small window was cut into the wall beside them with bars over it allowing the night's cool fresh air and shreds of moonlight into the back of the wagon. "Naa lle harwe?" (Are you hurt?)

He spoke softly to the elven girls. The oldest of the three with long silver locks shook her head. "Va." (No.)

Veryan shifted in place and groaned as pain shot through his side. "Lle naa harwe!" (You are hurt!) The smaller and youngest of the three, Rowina exclaimed as she pulled away from her sisters.

Veryan raised his hand to stop her. "Va. Amin naa tereva." (No. I am fine.)

Rowina reached out to Veryan but quickly retreated back to the corner and the safety of her sisters when the wagon rolled to a stop. Veryan twisted around just as the door next to him was pulled open and two forms reached into the wagon, seizing him by his shoulders and dragging him out of the wagon. He kicked his feet around trying to gain leverage against the men but it was too late. He tumbled to the ground, his shoulder colliding with the earth. He grunted as one of the men snatched him up by his long black hair and tugged hard, placing a blade against his throat and pulling him into a kneeling position. Two more men rode up to them on horseback and dismounted. The man holding Veryan was tall and of burlier build compared to his companions. He had broad shoulders and a tangled mess of orange hair. He carried a longsword on his back and wore worn Imperial armor like his compatriots. The red accents nearly completely faded. The leather was cracked by prolonged exposure to the sun's harsh rays. On his shoulder was a clasp on his armor with the late emperor's mark. A raven clutching a single gladiolus flower in it's talons. These men served in the The Great War. They bared the mark of the emperor once named  _Elvellonwen_. (Elf-Friend) Now they wear his mark while enacting the dark atrocities of the new emperor. Veryan gritted his teeth at the injustice of it all. He watched as the two men who arrived joined the other man to retrieve the three elven sisters hiding in the back of the wagon.

  
"Get in there Troy." The man holding Veryan growled at the youngest and smallest of the group. The kid resembled a bean stalk and was even more awkward than Adam. He had a black eye to which Veryan had proudly given him during their encounter in the Brethil woods. The runt was a coward compared to Adam with little fight in him. Veryan remembered how the kid fumbled to draw his sword only to drop it after the first swing. Veryan had easily dodged it and pinned the kid against the tree, smashing his hand against the wood. Giving the kid a quick once over, Veryan took note of the young man's bruised and bloodied knuckles. How he appeared to favor one hand over the other. Veryan's lips curled into a satisfied snarl at the realization that he may have broken the kid's hand. "What are you smiling about elf?" The man holding Veryan pulled back on his hair and kicked Veryan to the ground, snatching him up once more and returning the blade to his throat.

"That bash on the head must have scrambled his brains." Another of the men spoke as he climbed into the back of the wagon and grabbed one of the girls and pulled her out.

The other two elven girls cried out. "Fëa!" The oldest of the girls grabbed at the man's arms and kicked wildly against him, screaming.

"Shut up!" The man yelled into the wagon.

"Easy with the merchandise Viggo." The man holding Veryan growled.

"I ain't gonna hurt them Rindell." The man known as Viggo snapped back. "Much." He added.

The young man, Troy, climbed into the wagon and grabbed Rowina and pulled her out, tugging on her chains. "Come on." He said as if he were guiding a skittish foal.

Viggo shook his head at Troy. Viggo wore the same armor as the rest, adorned in faded red and leather, marked with the emperor's crest. He had short cropped sandy blonde hair and dark eyes. He carried a sword on his hip and a dagger in his boot. Veryan remembered seeing him pull it on Rowina when Veryan knocked him to the ground, thinking he had disarmed him using Troy's sword.

The last man who had rode in on horseback with Troy was of average build and height. He had short dark hair and wore a stoic expression. His eyes were dark and distant but always watchful. He carried on him smaller versions of an axe like that used for chopping wood. The handles were curved, made for throwing and close combat. They weren't very common but in the hands of a skilled warrior, they were deadly. Veryan was thrown off guard by them when he got the jump of Viggo and Troy. The axe nearly took his hand off. When he turned his attention to this man, Rindell got the jump on him. He assumed it was Rindell who caused the painful bump on the back of his head. Probably hit him with the hilt of his sword or a rock. The man stepped up into the wagon and took hold of the last sister, Estel, by her chains and guided her out. He appeared to take greater care with the elven girls. Helping her down off the wagon by taking her hands and lowering her to the ground. Estel, like her sisters shared the same silver hair and pale blue eyes. She was the middle child and was quiet and timid. "They're not made of glass Sebastian. You can push them around if-" Viggo began but was quickly silenced by the dark glare Sebastian gave him. It was clear this man was to be respected. Which among these men, meant he was dangerous.

Veryan watched as the girls were herded around the wagon towards a large log house in the middle of the woods. Veryan didn't recognize the place or the area but he assumed they were still somewhere near the Brethil woods. The night was near it's end and he could tell the dawn was soon to come. Given these men wouldn't travel too far from their supply.

The log house had two levels to it as far as he could tell and what appeared to be a run down stable beside it. There was a well on the other side of the structure opposite the stable. The house itself was covered in ivy and vines as the land was allowed to go untamed and tried to reclaim the structure. Veryan assumed this was to make the place look abandoned like many of the building from Ravil to the Blackroot Marshes in the northeast. The lands were spotted in abandoned farms and villages that had been laid waste to, most of them were a precursor to The Great War.

The men herded the three girls towards the stable and ushered them inside. As soon as they were a good enough distance away, Rindell dragged the rebel elf to his feet and pushed him ahead with his blade at his back urging him forward. Veryan complied, walking towards the stables. As he walked inside he saw the girls standing in the far stall with the men. One of the men bent down and disappeared. As Veryan got closer he realized there was a large hatch in the floor, hidden by straw and covered by a water trough. The hatch was long and narrow, opening up to wooden steps that led down below.

Each man took hold of their elf and guided them down into the hatch. Veryan was the last to descend the step or more like fall down them since Rindell felt it necessary to shoulder the rebel elf in the back and send him tumbling down until he lied in a heap at the bottom. A groan escaped Veryan's lips as his body throbbed painfully from the abuse. As Rindell descended the steps toward Veryan, the rebel elf assumed his true nature and lunged at the slaver with teeth bared. He grabbed the man by his feet and dragged him down the stairs, pouncing on him with his foot pressed into the man's throat choking him. Viggo and Troy were upon him in seconds pulling him away. Veryan turned on Viggo and shouldered him into the wall then turned on Troy catching him by the throat with his arm, hooking it around his neck before throwing him into the ground. Veryan turned back to Viggo who had picked himself up off of the ground, the rebel elf snarled an ancient curse as he lunged for the man. Viggo flinched away but when the attack didn't come, he looked up to find Sebastian had captured the rebel elf. His arms hooked under Veryan's arms, locking his shoulders in place while forcing the rebel elf's head down at a painful angle. He kicked the back of the elf's legs, forcing him onto his knees. Veryan thrashed around in Sebastian's grasp but found the man was stronger then he looked and had him in a deadlock.

"Nice work Sebastian." Rindell's voice came from the stairs. He growled as he paced in front of the rebel elf. Veryan tilted his head to the side, craning it up enough to look the larger man in the eyes, giving him a glare as sharp as daggers. Rindell gave a smirk and a slight laugh before his hand shot out in a blur, planting his fist in the elf's face. Veryan gritted his teeth and spit a wad of saliva and blood at Rindell which landed on his armor. Rindell sneered and struck out again, landing a punch in Veryan's gut. The rebel elf gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs. His body sagging slightly in Sebastian's hold. "He's got some fight in him." Rindell grinned, cupping Veryan's chin and raising his head to meet his gaze. He tilted Veryan's head to the side, catching sight of the mark on his neck. "Well lookie here boys. We have a rebel in our midst." Rindell mused. "All the more fun it'll be to break him."

"We'll get a high price in the Imperial City for him." Viggo laughed. "Maybe even the emperor himself will buy him."

Sebastian simply shook his head at Viggo. A disapproving look on his face. Viggo frowned at the man before shrugging and returning his attention to the three elven girls who were now huddled together, watching the men and Veryan with terrified faces. Rindell returned his attention back to the girls who gasped in fear and gripped each other even tighter. "Take care of them." Rindell ordered.

"Right boss." Viggo piped as he took Rowina and Fëa by their chains and led them down the narrow hall that opened up to a larger room than the previous one. Torches were fixed around the room to give it light. There were three cells in it, two of them were already occupied with a handful of elves. Women and children mostly. One was completely empty which was the one the girls were pushed into. Troy led Estel into the cell as well. Lastly was Veryan.

Sebastian released his death grip on the elf and hauled him to his feet, his hand tightly gripping Veryan's shoulder as he steered him down the hall. He was about to push Veryan into the cell when Rindell spoke up behind him. "Hold up a second."

"Boss?" Viggo asked as he watched Rindell step towards Veryan.

He withdrew a leather water bottle shaped like a gourd and reached inside his uniform, pulling out a small leather pouch and pouring its white powdery contents into the water pouch. He shook it up as he stepped towards Veryan. "Hold him." Rindell ordered.

Sebastian hooked his arms around Veryan in a death lock once more. The rebel elf struggled against the man as Rindell approached. Sebastian knocked Veryan to his knees once again. "Drink this." Rindell ordered. Veryan glared defiantly at Rindell, jaw locked shut. Rindell growled. "This is what I get for trying to be civil. Disobedience." He snatched a hold of Veryan's hair and pulled his head back, squeezing Veryan's jaw at the joint, forcing it open as he poured the contents of the water pouch down the rebel elf's throat. Veryan choked and coughed, trying to turn his head and fight the men but both Rindell and Sebastian refused to release him. When Rindell seemed satisfied and the bottle was empty, he let go of Veryan and nodded to Sebastian to do the same. Veryan fell forward on his hands and knees, coughing up the liquid. He felt like his skin was crawling and his body began to tingle. His vision became fuzzy and he felt like it took all of his strength to keep from collapsing. His head swam and his body went numb, the pain he felt chased away by whatever was in that water. His limbs trembled as they strained to keep him up.

"Not much fight in him anymore." Rindell barked as he nudged Veryan with his foot easily knocking the elf onto his side. Veryan laid in the dirt, staring up at the ceiling with dizzy fascination. "Put him with the others." Rindell smirked as Viggo and Troy grabbed the rebel elf by his arms and dragged him into the cell, leaving him lying in a heap at the entrance. Once the cell door closed, the elven sisters surrounded Veryan with worried whispers. Fëa glared at the men as they left down the hallway. She cradled Veryan's head in her lap, humming softly. Veryan stared up at the eldest elven sister, her form fading in and out of his vision but the soothing sound of her humming remained ever constant as he drifted into a hazy darkness. His eyelids submitting to the pull of sleep's temptation.

 

 

 

-Back in Lithaldoren-

"Here." The elven girl spoke, gripping Mornefindon's arm as the group halted their horses and dismounted.

"Are you certain Vanya?" Mornefindon questioned.

Randir who had already started to scan the area interjected. "She is."

Mornefindon switched his attention from Vanya to Randir. "How would you know?"

Randir crouched down to the mossy floor and spread his hand across the earth. "Here." He reached out with the other hand over a patch of earth. "And here." He pointed to large indentations in the moss where it had been flattened. Not by elves but by larger forms. In some places the moss had been disturbed enough to where the damp earth below was exposed. Randir crept along, his eyes searching the land as he read the forest floor like a book. Picking out broken branches and partial bootprints in the mud. He crept along to an area where a cropping of herbs grew. They were short, growing no taller than an inch above ground. Their leaves sprouted up from a thick root, the stems were thin and long as they spread out like a fan. Tiny dark red flowers sprouted up in the center, no more than five per plant. The plants grew at the base of the trees and thrived near clearings and on the edge of the woods where they are nourished by the damp earth while also receiving the blessings of the sun.

"What were you doing out here?" Mornefindon's stern voice broke the silence among the group.

Vanya shrank away from Mornefindon, ducking her head hiding partially behind Adam. "We were collecting herbs for Nanethiel." Vanya explained. "We didn't mean any harm. Simply to help."

"Herbs for what?" Adam asked curiously. "Who is Nanethiel?"

Randir answered, standing up and dusting himself off. "Nanethiel is the Lady of Lithaldoren." Adam shifted his attention to Randir with eager eyes. "She is well known for her medicines."

"She is also the mother of the missing girls." Mornefindon added.

"I wonder if the slavers know that." Adam wondered aloud.

"That would be highly unlikely." Mornefindon sighed. "It's problematic all the same. We must retrieve the girls and stop these slavers once and for all."

"Along with our companion." Randir added. "After all, he did risk his life to protect your people."

Mornefindon spoke none too enthusiastically in response to Randir's words. "Your companion as well."

Randir narrowed his eyes at Mornefindon, watching the elf lead his horse back towards Lithaldoren before mounting up. "We'll continue the search at dawn."

"We ride out now." Randir spoke up.

Mornefindon shot a dangerous glare towards Randir as if daring the half-elf to challenge him. "You'll find nothing in the dark." He stated, looming over Randir.

Randir obliged, accepting the silent dare. He looked up at Mornefindon, unwavering beneath the elf's sharp gaze. Randir got the feeling nobody dared disobey Mornefindon or challenge his orders. Randir's words slid off his tongue with ease. "Watch me." He had enough of the pleasantries. Diplomacy was the last thing on his mind when someone's life was on the line.

"You will receive no more aid from us if you choose to take this path." Mornefindon warned as Randir and Adam mounted their horses. Rosalie and Thatch trotted up alongside them on Veryan's horse.

"Your aid is no longer necessary." Randir fired back before spurring his horse forward, leaving Mornefindon alone in the clearing with Vanya.

As they rode out of the woods and into the open land, Randir slowed his horse to a trot and searched the landscape. His eyes scanning the earth. "I'm all for saving the elf laddy, but was that really necessary?" Thatch said as he and Rosalie sauntered up to him.

Randir spoke quietly, eyes still fixed on the land in front of them. "There's something he's not telling us."

Thatch studied Randir for a moment. "You're certain laddy?"

Randir turned to meet Thatch's hard gaze, after a moment of thought, Randir nodded. "I am."

"Well then. I'm with you." Thatch reassured.

"Randir!" Adam's voice gained two men's attention. Randir spurred his horse toward Adam who was a few yards away, kneeling in the dirt beside his horse.

"What is it Adam?" Randir asked as he approached the young man.

Adam glanced up at the half-elf before returning his attention to the markings in the dirt. "Tracks." Adam pointed out. Randir slid off the saddle and kneeled beside Adam. There was just enough moonlight out to make out what appeared to be tracks made by a wagon. The earth around the wagon tracks had been stirred up by impatient hooves. At least three, maybe four horses present.

Randir patted Adam on the back. "Good job." The two men climbed back up onto their horses and headed out following the tracks to the northeast. 


	10. All For One, One For All!

-In the Stables-

 

Veryan stirred to the sounds of footsteps, his heavily lidded eyes opening long enough to catch the sight of a shadow thrown across the wall in the torch light. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of boots slowly pacing back and forth in front of the cells. The rocks crunching beneath their weight. A quiet breath of contemplation wisping through the air. He opened his eyes finding he was staring at the far wall of the cell. At first he didn't notice anything too alarming as he allowed his eyes to slip shut once more. He listened to the boots walk past the cell in the eerie silence of the room. Suddenly his eyes flew open. As he feared, the cell was empty. He dragged himself to a sitting position, leaning his shoulders against the wall and his back to the door. The shifting shadow fell over him.

Veryan braced himself against the wall, his limbs feeling heavy like they were weighed down with lead. He swayed for a moment as he pulled himself to his feet and turned towards the cell door. His eyes rested on the form of the quiet man. Veryan's foggy mind recalled his name. "S- Sebastian." He spoke with a hoarse voice.

The man gave a respectful bow before the rebel elf. Veryan sneered at the sight. His eyes flitted about the room finding they were completely alone. Even the other two cells were absent of their previous residents. It was just Veryan and the slaver. Veryan cursed himself for foolishness.

"Be still." Sebastian spoke softly as he reached for the cell door, sliding a key inside the lock and turning it. As soon as the lock clicked Veryan lunged at the door throwing it open and barrelling into the slaver until his back was against the wall. Sebastian grunted, raising his arms in defense in front of him, pushing the rebel elf back. Veryan stumbled over his own feet and fell back onto the ground. His entire body was still under the influence of the drug they forced him to swallow. It took everything he had just to stand and focus for longer than a few seconds. He laid sprawled out across the floor like a fallen scarecrow in the midst of a terrible storm. His arms and legs in different directions. He fought the tendrils of sleep that crept along the fringes of his mind like a fog that swells over a swamp amidst a moonless night.

Sebastian crouched down beside Veryan, craning his neck to the side as he studied the rebel elf. Inspecting the mark branded on the side of his neck. The raised skin kissed by the fires of one's resolve. He had to admit, the elf had spirit. He was resilient. Sebastian was just surprised the elf was awake let alone able to fight after the large dose of sedative Rindell forced into him. It was made especially with elves in mind. Taking into account their increased metabolism. With such persistence and determination Sebastian found himself in utter fascination of the rebel elf.

Veryan shifted in the dirt, rolling onto his side to face Sebastian. He reach out to the slaver grabbing a hold of his armor and tugging on it weakly. Sebastian didn't pull away or swat the elf's hand off of him. He just simply watched wondering how much longer the elf could keep it up. To keep fighting the drug. After a few more tugs on the slaver's armor, Veryan's hand slipped away hitting the dirt with a thud as his eyes drifted shut.

Sebastian cocked his head to the side and reached out to the elf's neck to test his pulse. When his fingers came to rest over the elf's pulse point, Veryan's eyes shot open as he jerked away. Sebastian withdrew his hand and held it up showing he was not a threat in hopes of calming the elf down. He spoke softly with a reassuring voice. "I am not here to hurt you." He could see the confusion in the rebel elf's eyes. He noted the sedative appeared to slow memory functions as well as physical reactions.

"Fëa." The name slipped past Veryan's lips. Sebastian tilted his head to the side as he hushed the rebel elf.

"They're fine." He reassured, cupping the side of Veryan's face with subtle touches to keep the elf's attention. "Sleep." Sebastian's voice drifted to a mere whisper. Veryan watched the slaver through slitted eyes as if contemplating the order. A few moments later Veryan had succumbed once more to the temptations of sleep. The slaver remained crouched over his form as if waiting for the rebel elf to rouse again but after a few shallow breaths from the elf he was convinced that would be the last outburst from him for a while.

Once he felt the elf no longer posed a threat, he scooped the unconscious form up into his arms and carried it down the dim hallway and maneuvered him through the narrow hatch. Once he was above ground he kicked the hatch shut, balancing his weight on one leg as he did so with ease. Turning sharply, he found Viggo and Troy had lined the rest of the elves up outside the stables to which Rindell walked through and inspected them one by one. The ones he chose would go with Viggo while the rest would be sent back into the holding cells. As Sebastian approached, Viggo snorted in amusement at the sight of the slaver cradling the elf in his arms. "You really are an elf-lover." He jested

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Viggo in annoyance as he approached the line up. "We're taking him." Rindell grunted out, not even giving Veryan's form a glance.

Sebastian nodded his understanding as he carried Veryan towards the wagon where Viggo waited impatiently. As he approached, Viggo chuckled quietly. Sebastian shot him a questioning glance to which Viggo answered with a smug grin. "Elf-lover." Without hesitation Sebastian made a swift kick knocking Viggo's leg's out from under him. The slaver fell, cracking the side of his face on the wood boards of the wagon floor. Sebastian shook his head disappointedly as a flurry of curses flowed from Viggo's mouth alongside blood and a couple teeth. "You bastard!" Viggo cursed, looking up at Sebastian as he cradled the side of his face with his hand. His lip split and a dark bruise already forming. Sebastian returned with a dark glare that seemed to dare the slaver to retaliate. A flicker of fear crossed the man's face before he quickly averted his eyes and grumbled staring at the ground.

"Quit playing in the mud and load the damn cargo." Rindell growled.

Viggo switched his gaze to his boss as if in disbelief before picking himself up from the ground and snatching a hold of the captive elves' chains and pulling them along into the wagon. "Move it!" Viggo shouted as he shoved a young elven boy into the back of the wagon.

"Troy, take the rest back to their cells." Rindell barked. "Sebastian, you and Viggo will transport the cargo to Lorien."

A hiss escaped Viggo's lips. "You not comin?"

"A little birdy told me trouble is heading our way." Rindell grumbled.

"What's a little trouble? Who is it?" Viggo joked.

Rindell shook his head. "The rebel elf's friends are coming to rescue him and the three she-elves."

"That elven steward couldn't handle them himself? Throw around some of the weight that title of his holds" Viggo grumbled.

"Guess not. Hurry up and get the cargo loaded and get the hell out of here." Rindell commanded. Viggo flinched at the sound of Rindell's voice as he hunched his shoulders and continued shoving the elves inside the wagon. Once the cargo was successfully loaded, Viggo set out with the wagon with Sebastian riding beside it on horseback.

 

 

-On the Road-

Randir pursued the tracks along a small path that saw very little traffic. It was rocky and rough, barely big enough for a single horse forcing the others to fall in line behind him. Their horses neighed and stopped along the path, their heads twisting and turning in all directions, fighting their rider's will. Randir leaned forward and gently stroked the neck of his horse, whispering soothing words in elvish. As his horse calmed, the other two followed occasionally snorting their disapproval as their eyes followed the shadows among the trees.

The half elf watched warily unable to see anything but he knew in these woods, the eyes were easily deceived. He spurred his steed forward, eyes lingering on the treeline, eager to put some distance between them and it.

It wasn't long before the path curved into a main thoroughfare known as Merchant's Road, pulling them away from the trees and the shadows though the horses remained tense and uncertain. Before the war, this road was bustling with illustrious royal caravans and merchant convoys packed with goods from other lands and travelers peddling rarities of unknown or ancient origins. With all that passed along this thoroughfare, with it came bandits. With a rise of robberies along this road, the second emperor ordered that small groups of soldiers should patrol different sections of it. After a few years, they had successfully scared the bandit's off the main road. Though that resulted in them falling back to the roads that branched off towards the smaller inland cities. From Celborn in the far west to the lake town of Duane, splitting off there to the north to the Imperial City. If you continue east, it cuts through the mountains and plains to Ravil then goes northeast to the port city of Lorien. Of course the main road has many smaller roads that branch off to the towns it bypasses but to tread those paths is to invite the attention of said bandits.

Nowadays the Merchant Road is desolate, a ghost of what it used to be. The further east you go, the more apparent the eerie emptiness is. The small towns and villages that once littered the side roads and paths were now in complete ruins, ghost towns left empty with only spirits and wild animals inhabiting the shells of what was. Nobody dares to near these places through fear birthed of tales of the restless dead rising in the night to claim the unwary travelers. Or from elven superstitions, that those who rest where great misfortune has befallen shall be claimed by Idhron in their sleep.

Randir didn't believe either but that didn't stop the chill that crept up his spine as they passed an old farm house, nearly completely covered in ivy and vines, the roof fallen in under the weight of decades of accumulated decaying foliage and heavy winter snows. Beady black eyes of creatures peered through the windows at their passing presence. The empty unkempt fields were wild with weeds reclaiming the fertile earth. The remnants of the crops grew untamed, fed on by the critters that pass through. The decrepit building shuddered and groaned with the touch of even the slightest breeze. The horses grew uneasy, increasing their pace of their own volition.

As they increased their pace, Randir tossed a glance back at his companions hearing the shifting hooves of a single horse behind him. Adam's horse was stopped, facing forward, shifting side to side with apprehension though Adam gripped the reins tightly. His eyes locked on the creaking old farm house. His features fallen, making the young man look unusually solemn. It almost appeared as if he was seeing something the others weren't. Randir drew his horse around and glanced away from the young man only to reassure Thatch's look of worry. As he rode up to Adam's side, he studied the young man. It was as if he were lost in a memory. Eyes foggy, staring into the distant past, knuckles white from his hold on the reins. Shoulders taut with tension.

"Adam?" Randir questioned softly, hoping to gain the young man's attention but not spook him or his horse.

The young man blinked, breaking the trance as he quickly looked down at his horse. He didn't look up though he cleared his throat as if something had crept up there. Randir watched him swallow hard then clear it again, seeming satisfied that it worked this time. "We better get going." He said in a hoarse voice to Randir before spurring his horse forward until he was even with Thatch and Rosalie.

Randir shared a look of concern with the rugged dwarf before returning to his spot at the lead. He glanced back at the farmhouse as it fell back behind them swallowed up by darkness. They continued further for nearly an hour more until they spied an abandoned two story building. From the looks of it, it appeared to be an old side road inn. Like many of the other buildings they passed, the wilds were avidly trying to reclaim it with ivy draping over three of the four sides and a majority of the roof. The stables next to it looked equally as neglected. Randir felt a shiver run down the length of his spine as the weight of prying eyes fell upon his shoulders. He dismounted and inspected the earth. There were four sets of horse prints where the animals impatiently awaited their riders. Multiple footprints from many different people. Some had shoes on but most were barefoot. There had been a scuffle, signs of the dirt disturbed near the wagon tracks where the heaviest of foot traffic was. A few drops of blood still stained the earth. As he crouched down to inspect the earth, he looked up at the tracks, following them with his eyes. The majority of the boot prints made frequent trips from the wagon to the inn. But the bare footprints came and went from the stable.

"Thatch, Adam. Search the inn. Rosalie, I'm going to need your help." He spoke softly, keeping his voice low.

"Right." Thatch nodded as he slid off the horse with his axe in hand. Adam dismounted as well, his hand already prepared to draw his sword at a moment's notice.

"Be careful. I got the feeling we're not alone." Randir warned. Thatch nodded as they approached the inn.

Rosalie placed a hand on Randir's shoulder and squeezed. "You're worried." She said softly.

"I've got a lot of things to worry about." Randir pointed out as he nodded towards the stable. Rosalie understood and followed at the half-elf's side as they approached. Randir kept his hand on his sword as he pried the door open and slipped inside. He followed the footprints in the dirt to the far back stall. He looked around in confusion then up at Rosalie. He kicked around the straw looking for a sign of a trap door but found none. "This makes no sense." He kicked at the straw in frustration, his boot hitting the water trough hard enough to make it move. A hollow scraping came in response.

Randir looked down at the trough then crouched down, feeling the floor through the straw. Knocking on the wood, listening intently for the hollow sound. His eyes lit up when he found it. With Rosalie's help, he moved the trough and lifted the hatch, both peering down at the dark staircase. The faint glow of distant torch light barely gracing the wooden steps as they descended. Each step groaned under their weight, protesting against years of abuse.

Randir allowed his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness before continuing further. He took a torch from the fixture on the wall and lit it with a flick of flint against the stone wall. He breathed life into the sparks until the flames burned a crest around the oil slick end. He raised the torch as he walked towards the narrow hall, tossing a glance over his shoulder to check on Rosalie. She nodded, gripping the opening of her cloak, webbing her fingers through the draw strings nervously. Neither of them knew what awaited them but they pushed onward. Creeping quietly towards the end. As they reached the opening of a larger room, Randir raised the torch to inspect his surroundings, finding the firelight reflected back at him in the fallen and fearful gazes of the inhabitants, curled into themselves and huddled close to one another in the furthest corner of the cells. Only a handful of elves inhabited the first two cells. Randir noted seven elves, three adult females, one adult male and three children. The adults were huddled in one cell while the children were curled up in a pile against the cell bars near the adults but far from the entrance.

An elven curse fell from Randir's lips when he spied their gaunt appearances. A few of them were skinny even for elven standards. They were pale, their eyes befallen with a dark gloom as if all of their hopes had died away with their spirit. As Randir approached the bars to the children's cell, a young girl amongst two older boys had peered up at him. Her eyes widened with fear as he neared, flinching back away from him as if he could reach her from the entrance. She looked at him as if he were a nightmare and he felt the pain in his heart at the sight. He shook the pain away, reminding himself that her fear was within reason. He probably didn't look all too friendly, his human features more prominent than his elven at the moment with his hair hiding his ears and the darkness dulling the normally bright luster of elven eyes. He crouched to her level trying to appear less intimidating and forced himself to relax though it was harder than it looked given he was in enemy territory. With a soft sympathetic voice, he hushed her whimpers. " _Amin naa il-goien cron-lle_." (I am not going to harm you.)

The girl ceased her whimpers and turned to face him. She stared at him for a long contemplative moment. He took this as a positive sign and continued. " _Ta naa tereva. Lle naa varna sii'."_ (It is fine. You are safe now.)

He reached a hand out to her, showing he meant her no harm. She looked at him then to his hand and stared a moment longer then slowly, she reached out and took it. She stared at their hands as his fingers wound around hers in a reassuring grip. "I'm going to get you out of here." He spoke softly to no one in particular as he withdrew his hand and reached into his pocket and dug around for a moment until he withdrew what he was looking for. Two slender metal tools with oddly shaped tips, no bigger than a quill. He inserted them one at a time into the door lock and began working them, closing his eyes to feel for the tumblers. He felt the metal click around, feeling his way around the lock until he found each piece of the mechanism, forming a picture in his mind, he started really working on it. A few heartbeats later he was awarded with a successful click. He withdrew his tools and pulled on the iron door, it swung freely with the force of his tug. An amused smile danced on his lips. It's been awhile since he's had to pick a lock but he still had a way with it. His satisfaction was short lived when a growl of disapproval came from the hallway. A gasp slipped past Rosalie's lips and the little girl whimpered, scrambling back to the corner where the other two boys lie.

Randir turned tucking away his tools, standing up to face the intruder. A large man with a head of tangled orange hair, greasy and slicked back and a closely shaved beard stepped from the shadows with his sword brandished in the half-elf's direction. "Since you opened the door, you'll be sure to join them just like your rebel friend."

"Veryan." Randir breathed. "What did you do with him?" He demanded, his tone sharp and even.

The larger man quirked an eyebrow. "He should be entering Lorien about now. To be loaded onto a ship and sent off to the Imperial City Slave Market." He grunted. "You'll be next." The man growled arrogantly. He was cocky and self-assured. He held his blade lazily, baring the crest of the third emperor made him overconfident in his skills as if being amongst His Majesty's ranks once upon a time made him invincible. His armor had seen far better days and was ill taken care of, his blade was older possibly a family weapon. It too had it's better days far behind it. The real danger came from the close quarters and the man's immense size difference. In these tight quarters, he could easily throw his weight around and no matter his skill with a blade, he'd be sure to hit Randir. His only chance of a sure win would be to get to the opening but the man's hulking size blocked the only escape. A chill ran down his spine as he thought it over. The odd feeling of being watched must have been this man. He was waiting for them to split up, to cut themselves off in the lower chamber where he'd have the upper hand. Randir shook his head at how foolish he was. He fell for it in his rush to find Veryan and the other elves.

Randir shook his head and stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Take care of them." He ordered, nodding for Rosalie to see to the elves. The dryad nodded and stepped back towards the cell door and beckoned the little girl and her companions to come closer. She held her hands up before her and with a loud crack, the earthy floor broke open as a mass of roots and vines rose up and created a protective wall cutting the two men off from the cells. A growl of disgust came from the man just before he charged in a fit of rage, sword swinging wildly in the close quarters. Randir barely had enough time to avoid the assault, the edge of the blade coming too close to his face as he ducked under the man's large slash. He turned quickly, moving around the larger form before slashing at his back but his sword was repelled by the thick armor, leaving only a deep notch in it. Randir quickly backed up, avoiding the wild slashing as the man turned on him cutting towards his midsection then at his side. Randir stepped back, nearly stumbling over the broken earth. The fight would have looked like a comical dance as Randir moved back and forth avoiding swing after swing, unable to get enough space between them for a proper attack. He barely managed to parry the man's blows when he couldn't dodge fast enough. He cursed in elvish as he started to panic. The wall of roots seemed to make the room even smaller and the space all the more claustrophobic. But it was a small comfort knowing the others were safe. 


	11. Lorien!

-Above Ground-

 

Thatch and Adam entered the old inn cautiously as they scanned the rooms. Old wooden furniture covered in sheets and inches of dust and dirt, vines had managed to break through some of the back windows and crawled across the floor of the kitchen area giving it a jungle like appearance. The vines and ivy covering the pots and pans still hanging over the prep counter like long thin skeletal hands, slim fingers reaching for empty air. It reminded Adam of the  _Aldmaethor_ elves, their lifeless bodies scattered throughout the Ravil woods, their limbs hanging down like tree branches, swaying in the breeze. It gave him a sick feeling as he explored the first floor, causing him to spread out away from the kitchen and towards the stairs.

Thatch walked through the stacked tables pushed to the side of the room and out of the way. The empty inn gave Thatch an eerie feeling. Before the war he imagined this place was lively, the cook busying himself in the kitchen making the evening meals as the patrons sat around drinking. The walls filled with idle chatter and stories told as the heat from the fireplace chased away any lingering chill. The smell of good food and ale wafting up to the rooms upstairs. The sound of Adam's boots pressing down on the creaky steps leading upstairs pulled Thatch from his imagination. He looked up at Adam as he glanced back at the dwarf. Thatch nodded as Adam drew his sword and continued up the dark stairway. Thatch gripped his ax tightly in his grasp as he followed right behind him.

There were six rooms on the upper floor. A long hallway stretched across the floor as three rooms branch off on either side. Two of the rooms that were set on the face side of the inn were locked. The first room on that side was open. Bedrolls were laid out and footprints were tracked everywhere in the thick layer of dust. Clothes and plates with food left on them were left beside them. "Looks like we interrupted breakfast." Thatch said, nudging one of the plates with the toe of his boot. Adam observed from the entrance as he moved on to the rooms at the back of the inn. The first door on that side was unlocked but held tightly in place. He threw his shoulder into the heavy wood and forced it open with a massive shove. He stumbled forward when the door broke free of whatever was holding it. The room was pitch black, the windows covered by the wall of ivy that blanketed the back of the building. A slight breeze whistled through a broken window as the foliage crept through the opening and covered the inside of the room. Adam could feel the vines beneath his boots as they stretched up across the walls and the door frame. Blocking its access.

He shook his head and moved on, finding no reason to look further. The next two rooms showed much of the same signs of the wild's attempt to reclaim them. Vines peeking through the cracks in the window frames, moss sneaking across the ledge and evidence of rodents nesting in the furniture left behind. The beds were torn up and the desk nearly rotted by water damage from the rain. The roof was leaking along the far wall, leaving a gentle drip in the otherwise death like silence.

Thatch nudged the last door to get Adam's attention. "Come on laddy. There's nothin here." Adam nodded as a loud noise came from outside, causing the windows to rattle. It sounded as if the earth suddenly split open. Both men stood tense with alarm, gripping their weapons tightly as they turned for the stairs and ran. Their boots thundering down the old wooden steps and through the main floor to the front door. The two of them looked around in confusion as the horses reared back in alarm and made their fear known. A cloud of dust filled the space between the inn and the stables. Mounds of earth and twisted iron bars protruded from the ground around a massive orb of roots.

"What in the blazes?" Thatch hollered. "Rosie?"

The roots untwisted from each other and receded into the earth, releasing the charges within. Rosalie stood with her arms outstretched, long thin vines delicately wrapped around her, stretching out and wrapping around the group of elves beside her, holding them protectively. Slowly the vines released the elves from their hold and returned to the dryad's body, snaking back along her skin and disappearing beneath her cloak. The dryad knelt to the ground, panting as a young elven girl hugged her tightly. Thatch ran to her side as the rest of the elves tried to regain their bearings, obviously shocked by the dryad's magic. "Rosie are you okay?" His voice was heavy with concern for his wife.

Rosalie smiled, tucking back a long red lock of hair that fell into her eyes. "I'm fine darling." She reassured him as he hovered protectively by her side. "It's been a long time since I've had to do that." Thatch pressed a gentle hand on her back and rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

"You did good." He praised, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Adam approached looking through the huddled mass of elves. "Where's Randir and Veryan?" He asked, as his eyes searched the gaunt faces of the adults.

Rosalie got to her feet with a helping hand from Thatch. "Veryan is in Lorien along with the daughter's of Lithaldoren. Randir is down there fighting one of the slavers." She gestured to the hole in the earth.

"We've gotta go down there and help him." Adam blurted.

"You'll be going nowhere." A voice came from behind Adam. He turned to find a skinny blonde haired beanstalk of a man aiming a bow at him. His old worn red armor protesting against his movement as he shifted in place.

 

 

-Lorien-

The two slavers approached the gates leading into Lorien, the tall walls defending it on the city limits, protecting the farmer's within it's great stone stronghold. The morning still withheld it's shadows from the waking sun and kept the slaver's cart well hidden along the outlier road that ran the length of the outer stone wall leading down towards the harbor. The chill of the water swept across the shore as a cloud of fog rolled towards them, dispersing in wisps that danced around the horses, creating the illusion of a glamour in the shreds of early morning rays peaking over the cool stones. The dew that gathered on the surface of the stones and the grass, shimmered like tiny jewels. The wagon slowed to a halt as the horses shifted uneasily in place, as Sebastian rode up behind the wagon. "Viggo." Sebastian beckoned as his horse settled beside the wagon allowing the dark haired slaver to level with his colleague. "Hold up."

"What is it now?" Viggo hissed through broken teeth. His lip was split and swollen but ceased its bleeding a while ago. His cheek and jaw were black with bruises and his nose was slightly crooked. His eyes scrunched with annoyance and his puffed and swollen cheek.

Sebastian waited, looking around at the quiet shoreline then at the town gates. "We're going through town." Sebastian directed.

Viggo eyed the older slaver carefully. "Rindell said we go by the shore." He corrected, his tone heavy with frustration.

"Rindell isn't here." Sebastian spoke softly. "There's danger by the shore." He added, shifting his horse closer and leaning in close as if they were being eavesdropped upon. "We're being watched." He warned.

Viggo looked around, eyes scanning the shoreline then looking to the town. "How do you know?"

"Can you feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck? That uneasy feeling in your gut. The shiver as if eyes are staring you down." Sebastian explained. Viggo nodded, eyes still watching the shoreline. Suddenly the horses started shifting and rearing back. Sebastian tightened his grip on the reins to regain control as Viggo fought the horse pulling the wagon, it reared back, pushing it back off the path. Viggo hissed, trying to settle the beast down.

"Open the damn gates then." He barked orders at Sebastian, fearing the horse might bolt.

Sebastian nodded and maneuvered his horse to the gates and pounded on the heavy wood. His horse reared back as a group of guards stormed out of the entrance, swords drawn. The guard's armor adorning the sparrow's crest over blue gambesons. One guard snatched the reins of the horse pulling the wagon while two more leveled their blades at Viggo. One guard ordered the slaver to step down from his wagon while another guard held Sebastian at swordpoint near the entrance.

Sebastian held his hands up yielding to the guards but Viggo had other plans. He stepped down from the bench and drew his sword on a young guard with freckles that peered out from beneath his helm. The young man was taken by surprise but managed to stumble back out of range. "Stand down." Sebastian ordered but his words fell on deaf ears as Viggo continued his advance on the young man.

Sebastian threw one of his axes, pinning Viggo's arm to the wood of the wagon, shortening his attack range. The young guard watched Viggo scream and curse, slashing wildly with one hand while fighting to free himself. "Traitor! I'll kill you you bastard! You'll die like a poxy mutt!"

The young guard glanced in the direction of the gates to see a middle aged man with short closely cropped blonde hair in a heavier set of blue armor. A golden sparrow crest emblazoned in the center of the breast plate. Dark blue eyes scanned over the wagon and his men. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he approached the wagon, eyes settling on the slaver pinned in place. His erratic behavior ceasing when he shifted his gaze from the young freckle faced guard to the commander. Sebastian felt a twinge of sympathy as he watched Viggo's eyes go wide with realization. He appeared to go slack against the wood as if trying to make himself appear smaller. But the commander's eyes were locked on him. He stopped a foot away from Viggo, standing beside the young man who stood at attention. "At ease." The commander ordered.

The young man nodded and backed away, sheathing his sword and turning to wait at the gates with the rest of the guards. A dozen or so stood at the ready for their commander's next order. Only two stood off to the side, one holding the horse with the wagon and one standing guard over Sebastian. The commander regarded Viggo closely, the slaver's fierceness appearing to have faltered now that a more seasoned warrior was present. The commander's tired eyes narrowed dangerously as he took the ax from the wood freeing Viggo but now the man's broad form loomed over him as he regarded the ax thoughtfully before holding it against the slaver's throat. He stepped closer until they were chest to chest. "Do you yield?" He asked with a cold and steady tone.

Viggo swallowed hard and nodded. "Good." The commander stepped to the side, turning away from the slaver. Viggo released a sigh of relief that barely exited his lungs successfully before the commander's hand shot out with the ax tightly grasped, the blade hacking through flesh and bone until it was stopped by wood. The slaver's head balanced precariously on the ax as the rest of his body slumped to the ground with a loud wet thud. Blood squirted across the side of the wagon, the wood soaking it up as it ran down the weather tormented surface.

"There is no room for your filth in this city." The commander growled coldly. He looked toward his men as he walked back towards the gate. His tone was lighter, softer as he spoke to his men. "Get this cleaned up and see to the elves inside."

The guards nodded. "Yes sir." They said in unison before dispersing to see to their tasks.

The commander looked up at Sebastian as he took the reins of his horse and guided the slaver inside the walls of Lorien. "I see you're up to trouble again Sebastian." The commander's voice was soft, teasing almost but still holding the hard edge that came with commanding armies daily.

"You know me Cyril." Sebastian allowed a smile to grace his lips. "Trouble just seems to follow me."

The commander, Cyril, laughed. "I think you just enjoy it's company."

"Are you saying I invite it?" Sebastian inquired.

"And if I am?" Cyril cocked an eyebrow at the slaver, wondering what the man would do under his accusation.

Sebastian took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time all night. "I'd say you're right."

Another soft chuckle came from the commander. He glanced at the ground in an attempt to hide his smile. Sebastian's face cracked into a grin when the commander tapped the slaver's thigh with his ax. Sebastian took it and hooked it back onto his belt as Cyril gave a soft sigh. "Oh how I've missed you old friend."


	12. Soldier or Slave?

-Back at the Inn, Below Ground-

 

The earth rattled and shook, causing bits and pieces of ceiling to crack and crumble, falling down in clumps and clouds over the two combatants. Randir dodged and ducked and parried each thrust and jab from Rindell all the while being mindful of the weakening chamber. His eyes watched a large crack snake across the ceiling and down one of the supporting walls. His concern distracted him long enough for Rindell to get the drop on him. A straight thrust grazed Randir's ribcage as the half-elf quickly shifted to parry. A long cut was left behind when Randir forced Rindell back, catching the slaver's blade with his own. He forced the slaver to stumbled back, stunned by the counterattack. Randir slashed at Rindell's feet, causing the slaver to fall back hitting his head against the ground with a grunt. He placed his blade at the slaver's throat as another large crack broke the chamber floor wide open beneath the slaver. Randir turned and darted for the exit, escaping the crumbling chamber as large chunks of earth and roots fell. The ceiling began to cave in as he ducked heading for the stairs. Bits of early morning sunlight started to peer through the holes in the ceiling. The panicked scream of the slaver came from behind as the ceiling completely collapsed burying him alive, a sickening crunch came nearly swallowed up by the falling debris.

Randir rushed up the narrow wooden steps to the barn as an explosion of dirt and dust enveloped him. The passage buried behind him by tons of earth. Randir coughed, covering his face as he stumbled through the massive cloud of dust in the stable until he broke through the doorway to fresh air and sunlight. The sun had begun to peek over the tree line causing the half elf to blink as his eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in light, his hand caressing the cut across his ribs as he did a quick assessment of his surroundings. The stable itself groaned and shifted as its foundation crumbled causing the structure to become unstable, beams bending and boards breaking under the strain, a shower of splinters falling into the widening pit. He moved quickly away from the structure, shielding himself in case it too collapsed. As he stumbled away in the cloud of dust, he spotted the lone slaver with bow drawn and aimed on Adam. He didn't seem to notice the half-elf's presence with his full focus on the group surrounding the mass of roots and rubble reaching up out of the earth.

He saw Rosalie's eyes shift from the slaver holding them at the end of his sights to Randir, lingering a few feet away. He held a hand up to gesture to her, his palm facing up as his fingers bent upward in the appearance of a wall. She nodded, panting softly, still worn out from the first time she used her powers. Her features hardened as she focused every last bit of her energy into the earth. The ground shook violently, swaying and trembling the action throwing the slaver's aim off as a mass of roots rose up to shield the slaves from the arrow. Adam took the chance to charge at his opponent, sword held up in a straight thrust. The slaver was thrown off guard and fired frantically. The arrow shot past Adam's shoulder, nicking his bicep, leaving a two inch long slice through his sleeve. Droplets of blood stained the material but the wound did not deter the young man from his attack. His blade struck dead center of the slaver's armor, forcing him back with a scream of surprise, the tip of the blade leaving a large puncture, strong enough to absorb most of the blow but not enough to stop Troy from stumbling back. Adam continued his assault, relentlessly attacking with precision, leaving a variety of slashes and cuts on the young slaver's body. A scream erupted from his lips in agony as his flesh was lacerated mercilessly, he raised his arms up in defense only to have one of his fingers hacked off by Adam. Randir felt his blood run cold at the sound. He finally managed to find his voice. "Adam! Finish it now." He demanded.

The stern tone seemed to snap the young man out of whatever twisted trance he was trapped in, causing him to look up at the half-elf suddenly before raising his blade and driving it deep into the center of the writhing young slaver's chest. A gurgled cry leapt from his lips with a spurting of blood. His eyes rolled back in his head as his limbs felt limply at both sides of his body. The earth stained crimson as it leaked out of the young man's lifeless form. Randir approached, placing a hand on Adam's heaving shoulders, his panting breath the only sound left in the air. The young man whirled on Randir quickly with wide wild eyes but the elf managed to catch the fist heading in his direction before it landed it's blow. "Adam, it's over. You can relax." He said softly, watching as the anger that twisted his features into a wicked snarl melted away at the sight of his companion.

There came another sound, a cracking of wood which caused the two to look up in alarm, only relaxing when they saw the wall of roots unfurling. The wall broke away and returned to the earth to show the huddled mass of slaves and their dwarven comrade holding the exhausted dryad in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut, the soft glow that inhabited dimmed to a distant glimmer. Adam's eyes softened with concern as the two hurried over to their companions. "Is she alright?" He asked quickly, his eyes roaming over her unmoving form.

"Aye laddy. She'll be fine. Just needs a little rest is all." Thatch reassured both men, surprisingly calm for having his unconscious wife held in his arms.

"Thatch, can you take Rosalie and the rest of the elves back to Lithaldoren?" Randir asked quietly.

"Certainly laddy but what are you going to do?" The dwarf asked as one of the female elves took hold of the dryad and lifted her into their arms with relative ease.

Randir gave the elf an appreciative smile before speaking back to the dwarf. "Adam and I are going to Lorien to get Veryan back. We'll meet you back at Lithaldoren when we are done." Thatch nodded and turned towards the horses. The elves had already placed Rosalie on one before assisting Thatch up onto it, the elf then took hold of the reins and guided the horse away, the rest of the elves following close behind.

Randir watched them go before he and Adam mounted their own horses. A heavy silence had fallen between them, stifling any attempt at conversation and smothering all desire to. The half-elf resigned himself to leave the matter be for the moment. To allow Adam to collect his thoughts if he needed, besides it was not the time or the place for such a discussion. They had to reach Veryan before it was too late.

 

 

 

-In Lorien-

A single figure sat in a worn wooden armchair. The leather wrapped seat was frayed on the edges, the fibers of the cushion were cracked and strained to near breaking. The wood, once neatly polished and smooth was chipped and cracked from years of use. The desk the chair was drawn up to shared the same appearance from years of abuse. Chipped edges, notches and gashes in the surface as if things were being slammed down onto it. Deep grooves where it appeared a blade had once been stabbed into the old wood. Ink stains in varying sizes of black pools permanently soaked up.

The figure sat quietly, a stack of papers scattered before him though his attention was elsewhere. His body slouched, legs stretched out as he rubbed his weary eyes that stung in the failing candle light. His shadow thrown across the wall, once an imposing sight now only looked pitiful. His dark hair a tousled mess, growing wild and hanging into his tired eyes. He didn't look it but he was getting on in years and his current line of work was taking it's toll. The endless sleepless nights, constantly on the move and nobody to return home to at the end of a grueling contract as well as no home to return to.

With a quiet sigh, he gave a soft amused chuckle. As much as he desired to settle down once and for all, he couldn't bring himself to imagine what that was like. Even as a child, he spent his entire life on the move. Always another town, another city, another job. Working for a living and spending his life looking for more work. It was who he was. As pitiful as that sounded.

He skirted his fingers through his hair, drawing it back away from his face as he peered over at the bed. A wooden structure much like the desk and chair, the craftsmanship similar indicating it was a full set. The bed had less damage to it and appeared almost new in that fashion. He spent many nights staying in this room while on business. But rarely did he ever find himself using the bed. It wasn't that it was uncomfortable or anything like that. He just never seemed to make it to it. Usually falling asleep at the desk after hours of reading through reports and mission statements.

Now for the first time in years, it was finally getting its intended use. A tall slender form laid in the center, a blanket drawn up to their waist to fight off the lingering chill of the spring night. Long black hair draped across the side of his face, hiding his fair features in shadows. Though the long locks failed to hide his pointed ears. The figure wore only leather trousers, the rest of his armor neatly deposited in a trunk at the foot of the bed with the elder man's weapons. His back was turned towards the elder man though not of his own accord, he was sure the elf would have rather had his back to the wall were he lucid enough to decide when the man put him there. His back was marked with puckered pale flesh, criss crossing his shoulders and his lower back. The man tilted his head to the side, inspecting the scars left from where a whip had bitten into pristine flesh.

It was considered a great punishment to mar the flesh of an elf. To molest their appearance. Many human's saw the elves as perfect. Some have gone so far to say they were the pride and joy of the gods. Pristine and beautiful with features so fair. Once it was said to molest the flesh of an elf, one would be struck down by the gods themselves. When that didn't happen, it became a game for many soldiers and slavers to mark the elves they capture. Some would be branded or have symbols or crests carved into their backs or chests. Some would just be completely brutalized. Simply because they could.

The man frowned in disgust. Nobody should be subjected to that. He once killed a man he had worked with for a few years for attempting to brand a she-elf they happened upon. She was collecting herbs in a field on the outskirts of the brethil woods. His partner at the time got it in his mind he was going to have some fun. He ended that just as quickly as it began. The moment his partner touched the elf, he put a blade in his back. This little action gave him the nickname "Elf lover." from his colleagues. It was supposed to be an insult but he didn't mind it. If giving a shit about another living being means he "loves" them, then fine.

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped up on his knees as he studied the elf's relaxed breathing. He made mental notes on his breathing and pulse throughout the day, keeping a cautious eye on the young rebel. He rose from his seated position and gently sat on the edge of the bed, reaching down to the elf's wrists which were hand cuffed, his hands lying comfortable against his chest. The elder man pressed two fingers against the inside of one of the wrists and closed his eyes, counting the heart beats in his head. Without warning, the steady beat that played in the elf's body sped up. The man opened his eyes to find the elf's dark emerald eyes wide and fearful, staring at his bound wrists. Suddenly he turned on the man and pressed himself against the wall, his body tense with unease. The suspicious glare that the elf shot him, was a little unsettling at first but he waved it off as something that can't be helped.

With a quiet soothing voice, the man spoke, showing his palms to the elf to ensure he meant no harm. "Just relax. You're safe now." He cooed. After a prolonged silence and not a single movement from the elf except that of his eyes looking around the room in wild confusion. The man made more mental notes as he asked. "What's your name?"

The elf looked even more confused as he replied. "Veryan." The suspicion in his eyes focusing on the man.

 _Good._ The man thought, adding to his mental notes.  _Memory functions appear to be normal._ He cupped his hands together in his lap as he asked another question. "Do you remember me?"

The elf furrowed his brows together as he thought. "Yes. You were in the cells." His eyes widening as his thoughts started catching up. "You're with them!" His voice took a sharper tone and his body tensed. He pressed himself further away from the man until it was almost painful.

"My name is Sebastian." The man explained. "I mean you no harm. Those men will never hurt you again."

"Where's Fea?" Veryan demanded.

But Sebastian simply waved the question off as he rose from the bed and walked over to the desk. On the far side of the desk was a plate of bread. He had asked for it when they arrived earlier in the day should the elf wake up. Now he took the plate and brought it over to Veryan. "You need to eat." He explained.

Veryan shook his head and opened his mouth to protest but Sebastian cut him off with a hand held up. "The drugs you ingested are highly potent. The amount you swallowed could kill you, even now. You need to eat, it'll help break down the substance and weaken its effects." Veryan scowled at him. Sebastian sighed. "If you eat, I will answer a question for every bite you take."

Veryan thought about this then held up his hands, jingling the cuffs. "I can't eat without my hands."

"Those stay on." Sebastian responded, his soft tone meeting a strict edge. "I'll help you." He sat down next to the elf and held a slice of bread out to him. The elf looked at the bread then at the man, apprehensive and feeling a bit foolish. But the hollow growl from his stomach won, forcing him to take a bite. "Do not bite me." Sebastian warned. "Or I will bite you back."

The elf drew back as he chewed the bread and glared in response to the comment. "Where's Fea?" He asked.

"Don't worry. Her and her sisters are being taken care of. A convoy is being put together to escort them and the rest of the elves back to the brethil woods. They will be home before the next moon." Sebastian explained, holding the bread out to Veryan who rolled his eyes at how ridiculous this must've looked as he bit into it.

"Where am I?" He asked.

"Lorien. Most specifically, in the fair Lady's Keep."

Veryan froze. "Lady Zaelia?"

Sebastian shook his head. "You know the deal. Can't answer until." His voice trailed off. Veryan grunted in response but took another bite. "Yes, Lady Zaelia. She and I planned the attack on the slave wagon. With the knowledge of Nanetheil's children being taken from the Brethil Wood, we decided now was the time to strike. If the Imperial's got their hands on the true children of Lithaldoren, the war would shift to their advantage, having control of the largest elven faction in Arda."

"So you really did help me?" It was a rhetorical question but Sebastian answered all the same.

"Yes. Without the elven people, Arda would fall to ruin. Nothing would stop the Imperials from destroying this country as well." The elder man explained. "That is why we fight for elves and the rest of the nonhumans."

Veryan relaxed, pulling away from the wall. He found it hard to wrap his head around the idea that this man, who helped capture him and the children of Nanetheil, could be his ally. "If you care about nonhuman's so much, why did you help the slavers capture so many?"

Sebastian gave a small smile that Veryan couldn't help but feel annoyed at.  _What was so damn amusing?_ Sebastian sat the plate aside and faced Veryan more completely. "I work for Lady Zaelia. She heard rumors that her city's harbor was being used for nonhuman trafficking. That a ship of slaves was being prepared to sail to the capital with its cargo. She ordered me to find the group of slavers and infiltrate their ranks. From there I could control the amount of damage done by the slavers. And the elves they capture  _have_  to go through Lorien before they get to the capital. Lady Zaelia seized the ship and it's cargo then arrested the ship's captain. She made a deal with the captain that if he were to work for her, he would get to keep his ship and his freedom."

Veryan was listening, he knew Lady Zaelia from the rumors of her city harboring elves hunted by the imperials. Many elves were spared by her generosity. He thought her to be the only decent human in Arda. Sebastian continued speaking while Veryan silently admired the great Lady's deeds. "Every elf that boards that ship is then taken to a port not far from Lorien where her brother's men await it's arrival. From there the elves are cared for and once deemed capable, are then returned to their homes with a military escort."

Veryan nodded in understanding. "All of this kept secret of course. The fewer who know, the better." Sebastian added quickly.

"Then why tell me?" Veryan asked.

"Because I want you to know you can trust me." Sebastian explained quietly.

Veryan thought about that for a moment, pondering if trusting this man was the right thing to do. "Then trust me in return." Veryan asked, holding out his bound hands.

Sebastian stared at the cuffs for a moment then looked up at Veryan, studying the elf's expression. He placed a hand on Veryan's left hand, his fingers resting over the inside of his wrist. "You won't try to attack me?"

Veryan shook his head. "No." He watched the doubtful look in the man's eyes. "Only if you give me a reason to." He added.

Sebastian remained where he was for a few moment's in complete silence before he gripped the cuffs with one hand while digging in his pocket with the other, producing a key with which he unlocked the cuffs with.

" _Le fael."_ (Thank you.) Veryan said as he rubbed at the lingering feeling of the cuffs on his skin.

Sebastian nodded, not quite understanding the words but knowing the appreciative tone as he placed the cuffs on the desk with the key. He heard the rustle of movement and turned just in time to see Veryan climb off the bed and to his feet. He swayed uneasily before his body leaned too far one way and the rest of him fell towards the floor with a frustrated gasp. Sebastian's hand shot out catching the elf by his bicep, holding him by one arm as he slowly guided him to the floor. The strong grip already beginning to leave bruises on his skin.

"Like I said, the drug is still affecting you. You need to take it easy." He spoke softly, as he scooped the elf up in his arms getting a surprised gasp in response. Veryan tensed, opening his mouth to protest as the man laid him back on the bed. "You need rest." He explained.

Veryan scowled. "I am not a child."

"No but you are weaker than one at the moment." Sebastian pointed out. Veryan folded his arms and glared at the remark.

Sebastian rolled his eyes in amusement as he gathered the paperwork he had been working on earlier into a neat pile. "I have to turn in my final report to Lady Zaelia." He tucked the papers under one arm as he walked to the trunk at the end of the bed and opened it with a click of the latch. He withdrew a belt with two small axes clipped in place, one on either side. Quietly he fastened it around his waist then pulled on his cloak over his worn black leather armor before closing the trunk. He glanced up at the elf staring at him. "I'll be back later." He explained before turning to slip through the door, papers in hand. Before the door closed, he turned and leaned through the gap. "Get some rest." He ordered before disappearing into the darkened keep, the door softly clicking shut behind him.


End file.
